


Pretty Moths and Butterflies

by Misschatelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 84,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24567283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misschatelle/pseuds/Misschatelle
Summary: Mourning the loss of her partner Lexa, Clarke moves with her daughter Madi to a small town in the middle of Fucking Nowhere, Virginia. They are eager for a fresh start, but their grumpy landlord and neighbour is quick to spoil those hopes.Madi has always had this weird saviour complex, though. Of course she'd start befriending the man who apparently made it his mission to bully Clarke senseless.
Relationships: Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Echo, Emori/John Murphy (The 100), Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller
Comments: 286
Kudos: 428





	1. Mr. Landlord

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the thing. I don’t normally write AUs. 
> 
> Writing fics is generally my outlet for unresolved post-cliffhanger indignation (or, you know, when the build-up is so slow it makes you want to douse your TV with gasoline in case that makes them consummate the relationship faster). 
> 
> ... wait, what was I saying?
> 
> Oh yes.
> 
> I don’t normally write AUs, but with The 100, I've had to accept that any attempt at canon compliance would result in a story crawling with canon-related mishaps. I have a bad memory, okay? It’s been six years, damnit. (Compilation videos always confuse me because I can’t remember half the scenes in them. Many turn out to have been pivotal points in their respective season. Still slipped my mind completely.)
> 
> So here were are. Hope you enjoy the ride.
> 
> The title is inspired by one of my favourite poems, "When Death Was a Little Boy" by Michael Nabert.
> 
> A WORD OF CAUTION: This fic addresses themes relating to mental health and loss. Tread carefully if those constitute triggers for you.

Bellamy Blake’s first thought was that Clarke Griffin looked like a caricature.

Or rather, she looked like someone who tried so hard not to be one, that she ironically wound up ticking every box on the list.

Chin-length blonde hair – check. Edgy yet practical haircut – check. Faded jeans, achromatic tank tops, and an old leather jacket that hailed straight out of a post-apocalyptic YA drama – check.

Bellamy would have pegged her as a barely-legal punk, had it not been for the unsettling composure in her demeanour, and the indescribable wisdom in her eyes. He found he couldn’t quite tell how old she was, really. She mentioned a daughter, and a job as a nurse. With these latter pieces of information, Bellamy supposed he could trust her not to burn down the house.

Plus, it wasn’t like people were trampling each other to come and live in a mobile home in the middle of Fucking Nowhere, Virginia. Any prospective tenant proving to have more than two active brain cells, with or without latent punk rock vibes, was non-negligible.

They signed the lease that same afternoon.

And a few days later, Clarke Griffin and Madi Heda moved in next door.

o0o0o

“How does someone own two houses?”

Madi asked the question while slowly ruffling through the contents of a box, undoubtedly making more of a mess than she was actually clearing. Clarke looked up from the junkyard that was their living room floor, and sized up her daughter from where she sat on the wooden floors. With intermittent glances, she continued eyeing the items of a miscellaneous box she didn’t know where to place.

“I don’t know,” Clarke said distractedly. “The guy’s not exactly a talker. But I think this house was in the family. Like an uncle or something. The old man died alone, and bequeathed the house to our new neighbour.”

Madi snorted. “For him to die alone in turn.”

Clarke tilted her head in pointed disapproval. “Madi, that’s uncalled for.”

“ _What_? He looks like an old loser who spends his nights drinking out on his porch and grumbling about today’s youth.”

Clarke fought back the grin that tried sneaking its way onto her lips. The image sounded shockingly accurate. Still, she had to object, for the sake of Madi’s young impressionable soul. “He’s not old, Madi. He’s a thirty-something man.”

“But his _aura_ or whatever is that of an 80-year-old drunk.”

“Ok, now that’s just mean.” Clarke’s voice was a warning that Madi knew well enough. Sure, the woman was short and generally angelic-looking in spite of the dark clothes she insisted on wearing, but Madi had seen her angry side, and she didn’t need to see it today. Better to drop it.

In any case, A.L.I.E. the evil Labradoodle chose this exact moment to scramble into the room with toilet paper wrapped around its neck. The ripped and half-chewed paper trailed airily behind her as she burst towards the kitchen.

Clarke gave Madi a pointed, unimpressed look.

“It’s your dog, Madi,” she stated calmly, returning her attention to her problematic miscellaneous box.

Madi rolled her eyes and got to running after her curly-haired devil.

o0o0o

After a long day of unpacking, it was nowhere near finished, but Clarke felt they had at least gone through the bulk of it. With her first shift at the clinic starting tomorrow, she was glad she wouldn’t have to walk into a maze of boxes after her shift. Madi was also starting out at her new school in the morning, so unpacking would inevitably fall on the backburner over the next few days. She hoped they’d get it done by the end of the next weekend.

Madi was in her room, probably with A.L.I.E. If Clarke had to take a wild guess, the teenager had to be wasting away her brain cells on her new phone, a gift from grandma Abby that brought endless joy to the young girl and infinite frustration to her adult guardian.

“Everyone her age has one these days, Clarke,” Abigail Griffin had argued defensively, when challenged about not consulting Clarke beforehand. “She’s been through a lot lately. Don’t you think she can have that _one_ thing?”

_Damnit,_ Mom _._

There would be rules about smartphone usage in this house, but Clarke figured that on this particular night, she could use the peace and quiet that came from her teenage daughter being too busy neutralizing brain cells to request snacks or attention.

She countered herself lucky, she thought, while pouring herself a glass of wine. Most teenagers would have put up a fight about moving to a remote small town, to a new school, and to a new world entirely. Madi had taken it all in strides, with a maturity and understanding that made Clarke burst with pride and gratitude.

But then again, they didn’t have anything holding them back in the city. After the worst year in both of their lives, Clarke supposed they had both been ready for a change, however it presented itself.

Clarke rested her elbows on the kitchen counter and sighed in contentment, absentmindedly looking out the window while sipping her wine.

One of the many particularities of mobile homes, Clarke found, was their shape. Narrow and elongated, they were often positioned laterally, so that the front porch faced the next-door neighbour rather than the road. In an area where such homes were common currency, homes were all parallel to one another, with front porches all facing the same way, thus creating a minimum of privacy. Thankfully, this area was nothing like the trashy trailer parks Clarke had always dreaded.

The neighbourhood was residential, with distant cries of playing children often heard nearby. Houses were reasonably spaced, and only half of the houses were of the mobile variety. Theirs may be one, but they were lucky enough to have a medium-sized yard, and traffic was near nonexistent around here. Plus, rent was affordable. As a single mother with debts to pay, that mattered more than she would have liked.

Their front porch faced the right-side neighbour's house, but their kitchen window looked out the other way. As she took another sip of wine, she found that she could see past the row of sparse trees delimiting her yard from the one next door – another weak attempt at privacy – and she could size up the outdoor space of their new neighbour and landlord.

Bellamy Blake was out on his rudimentary deck. A beer was propped on the small faded plastic table next to the pliable chair he sat on. Clarke smirked as she thought of how obnoxious Madi would be if she knew how accurate she had been with her character description of the man.

Except, rather than grumbling about today’s youth as per Madi’s predictions, the man was reading a book under the tenacious sunrays of a late end-of-summer night, only periodically emerging from his reading to take a gulp of his beer. It seemed like such a peaceful scene, Clarke thought she and Madi should take advantage of their own deck too, sometime. The orientation of the house made it so that they could enjoy the sun in late afternoons and evenings. Once Clarke got her hands on their book boxes, which had to be _somewhere_ , she could read a book while Madi typed away on her smartphone. Maybe they could even have a few dinners out there, when the weather allowed it.

Clarke was in a pensive mood, as she shamelessly observed the man next door. She hadn’t paid him much mind during the initial visit and lease signing. Her mind had been solely focused on the house and its possibilities. Now, however, she could pay more attention to his wavy black hair, which looked like it could use a hair cut, and yet seemed so fitting for him, it worked in his favour. She couldn’t see them from here, but she remembered that he had freckles, sprinkled over his face and neck, giving him a boyish look. The indescribable darkness of his eyes overpowered it, however, making him look older and grave. He was a reasonably tall man, 5’10, maybe 5’11. A strong build, which implied manual work of some sort. She didn’t know much about the man. Just that he was grumpy and easily irritated. Some would have found him scary, she supposed. To her, his antics merely made him come off as irksome.

She always told Madi that you never knew a person’s story. That was advice she lived by herself. Or at least, she tried to. Something about Bellamy Blake rubbed her the wrong way, and she couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was how he’d delivered instructions in that patronizing manner that said he expected her to disappoint. Or maybe it was his exasperated sigh of resignation when she’d mentioned the dog.

Still, this place was a good one, an opportunity for both her and Madi to start over. She wasn’t about to mess that up because of some rude neighbour who had never heard of good manners.

Whatever was the problem with this Bellamy Blake, she’d be the bigger person and handle it like an adult. For Madi, she’d make it work.

She gulped down the last of her wine and started getting ready for bed.

o0o0o

Clarke was returning from her fourth shift at the clinic when she came home to a house with no hot water. In a state she would astutely describe as both pooped and icky, she swallowed her pride and called Bellamy. The landlord was at her door in a matter of minutes.

He walked in like the house belonged to him, and admittedly, it did. Clarke recited her calming mantras – _I will be the bigger person. I will make this work. For Madi –_ as she let him do his thing. She had to pick Madi up soon – the girl had gone to a classmate’s home after school to “do homework.” She didn’t trust the excuse for a minute, but she was so relieved that Madi was connecting with kids her age, she let it slide. She wanted to meet the other kid’s parents, and she’d rather be showered and presentable for it. For that, she needed grumpy Bellamy to get the boiler into working order again.

She held her tongue even as he overtly inspected irrelevant parts of the house, as if hunting for flaws to criticize. At least, the boiler was repaired quickly, and Bellamy swiftly tested the water in the bathroom near Madi’s room.

“It’ll take a moment to heat up again, but you should be able to shower soon.”

Clarke tried to whip up a smile that felt and looked sincere. “Thank you. I really appreciate that you could come help so quickly.”

He grunted in response and Clarke rolled her eyes behind his back. He looked around, even as his cue for leaving had clearly been presented to him. When he turned again to face her, he was pointing up to the corner where the wall of the bathroom met the ceiling. “See this?”

Clarke blinked as she looked up, seeing nothing. “What?”

Bellamy scoffed to himself, but Clarke most certainly heard it nonetheless. “Those are humidity stains. You really gotta turn on the vent when you shower, otherwise humidity builds up and I’ll have a mold problem on my hands. I know that may not sound important to you, but I’d appreciate it if you took care of the house while you live here.”

Countless snide remarks ran through Clarke’s mind – _I will make this work, I will make this work_ – before she settled on an innocuous smile, now evidently devoid of any genuine feelings. She didn’t try to hide how fake it was. If anything, she wanted him to know that he deserved the kind of scornful response she was too polite to offer. She was being the mature one, not him; she hoped he could see that.

“Duly noted. I’ll tell Madi.”

The man looked almost unsettled by her calm response. With nothing left to say, he grunted and left.

Clarke huffed audibly as soon as he was out the door. Then she looked at the time and realized she had fifteen minutes before she had to go get Madi.

A semi-cold shower it would have to be, then.

o0o0o

They were nearly 10 days into their new life, and still not done unpacking.

Madi was inside, supposedly doing homework. Clarke had offered to drive her to her new friend’s house. Madi had kindly informed her that she wasn’t eight years old anymore and that’s not how friendships worked. _Jeez_ , they didn’t even follow each other on Instagram yet, and now that Clarke had utterly _humiliated_ her by insisting on meeting Charlotte’s parents the other day, her chances at making meaningful connections were now in clear jeopardy.

Clarke didn’t know what half of it even meant. She’d thought Charlotte’s parents looked like nice people. They’d seemed perplexed at Clarke’s evident young age, but hadn’t commented. Clarke was used to it by now anyway.

She was sitting out on the deck, taking advantage of the nice weather with a glass of lemonade and some music. Her first week had been a long one, and she couldn’t bring herself to unpack more boxes at this time. She needed to unwind.

She thus couldn’t help the low groan in the back of her throat when she saw Bellamy appear onto their yard and make his way over to where she sat. She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. What now? She wasn’t playing music _that_ loud, and it was the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday. Was he seriously that much of a grinch?

“Good day, Mister Blake.” She called with a smile.

She had noticed that calling him Mister Blake annoyed him. She made it a point to call him that every time, with the widest grin she could muster. A good underhanded slap in the guise of pure politeness.

He offered his routine grunt before skipping all pleasantries and jumping right into the crux of the matter.

“Your dog’s crap is _all_ over the yard. I hope you don’t expect me to come and clean it up.”

Alright, that was a clear exaggeration. There were only a couple of leftover excretions on the yard, which Madi had yet to pick up. Clarke had only agreed to a dog if Madi took responsibility, and she wasn’t about to pick up dog poop because Madi had better things to do.

She adorned her usual inauthentic smile, and felt eternally grateful for her sunglasses masking her eyes’ true sentiments. “I apologize. It’s Madi’s chore and she tends to procrastinate. You know teenagers.”

Instead of the knowing and understanding smile most human beings would have offered, Bellamy rather looked unimpressed. “Well, I don’t care who does it, I’d just prefer if the yard was kept clean. Even if that means you have to pick up after your daughter’s slack.”

Clarke’s smile tightened. He could shower her with veiled insults all day, but picking on Madi was crossing a line.

It took everything in her power not to lash at him. _I can be the bigger person. For Madi._ “Don’t worry, it’ll get cleaned up by end of day.”

Bellamy seemed hesitant, as if he’d expected more repartee on her part. He almost imperceptibly frowned, then nodded, grumbled his insincere thanks, and left.

When he was out of earshot, she shouted through the screen of the door’s opened window. “ _Madi!_ Your dog’s poop’s everywhere!”

“Oh. My. God. I said I’d do it later!”

o0o0o

They’d been in the house for nearly two weeks, and Clarke was trying to get through unpacking once and for all. She wanted to turn the extra room into an office, but that required clearing the boxes piled into it. Madi was at Charlotte’s for the afternoon, and while Clarke would have appreciated some help on those dreadful leftover boxes, she was also glad that Madi had finally found a friend worthy of an Instagram follow – and accessorily, to socialize with in real-time, once in a blue moon.

She’d already been through six boxes of annoyingly random items when she got to a one so poorly identified that it _had_ to have been packed by Madi. Clarke sighed as she tore through the thick, clumsy layer of tape, rolling her eyes at the “old shit” scribbled in Sharpie on the side. _Damnit Madi_ , there was a system.

When she pulled the flaps of the box open, however, she froze. Madi had definitely been the one to pack this box, because Clarke didn’t remember going through any of this stuff. Not in a long, long while.

With a knot in her throat, she reached for the picture frame resting on top of the otherwise precariously disorganized contents. Through the dirty protective glass of the frame, Lexa looked up at her with a beaming smile. She stood on a beach, in front of a lake Clarke remembered too well. Their only real family vacation. On Lexa’s right, a joyful ten-year-old Madi smiled with all of her teeth, not yet too old for such demonstrations of elation. On Lexa’s left side was Clarke at 24, an arm wrapped around Lexa’s, and her head resting comfortably and lovingly against the other woman’s shoulder.

Clarke blinked away the tears as she set the frame on the floor next to her. She’d deal with it later.

The rest of the box was no better. Lexa’s notebooks, her favourite beanie, her “Best Teacher” mugs, and her collection of quirky key chains. All the things Clarke could never bring herself to throw away. Madi had probably packed those when Clarke wasn’t looking, to save her the trouble and the pain.

That kid. Damnit.

She stuffed the picture back in the box and closed it before she could stare for too long. She had stuff to do, she had planned for a productive Saturday, and she couldn’t grieve right now. Just not right now.

She was alright. She could still get stuff done. She would deal with that particular box later.

So _what if_ she suddenly felt tired, and needed a nap? Maybe she just needed a bit of rest, before getting more work done.

Just a little rest. Just a few minutes.

The sun was significantly lower in the sky when she dared looking at the time again. Her eyes felt dry and leathery, and she had to fight through the ambient blur before she could read the glaring numbers on her alarm clock. 17:47. Madi would be home soon. Charlotte’s parents had said they’d bring her back before dinner.

She willed herself to get out of bed, and jumped when she heard the doorbell.

Heart racing, she rushed to the bathroom to splash water on her face and brush her fingers through her hair. Then, she breathed deeply a few times, in an attempt at adopting a cool demeanor that would hopefully fool Madi.

As she carefully made her way to the door, she thought it weird that Madi wouldn’t use her key. Maybe she’d lost it. _Of course_. That’d be on-brand. Clarke always said that if Madi’s head wasn’t attached to her body, she’d forget to bring it.

She opened the inside door with a knowing smile, which she lost as soon as she met Bellamy’s glaring eyes beyond the screen of the outside door’s window.

“ _What_?” she asked unceremoniously, in no mood for maintaining polite appearances. As she half-heartedly opened the second door, she thought Bellamy had very poorly chosen his timing to come pick on her.

“Well, hello to you too,” he mused sarcastically, ignoring the fact that he was usually the one to forego pleasantries. “Just thought I’d let you know that your _fucking_ dog defecated on my yard and I’d be _grateful_ if you took care of that.” His words carried a kind of formality that was entirely undermined by his swearing and the biting anger of his tone.

She didn’t bother smiling. Wanting the interaction over as soon as possible, she coolly responded, “Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Seemingly encouraged by the dryness of her tone, he continued. “And maybe you should consider keeping that conniving beast on a leash. Keep it under control. You know.”

Under other circumstances, she’d have smirked at his use of the word “beast” to describe a freaking Labradoodle.

These were not “other circumstances,” however. She sighed impatiently. “Sure. I’ll consider it. Is that all?” There was no way she was going to keep A.L.I.E. on a leash all the time, but she’d make sure Madi kept a closer eye on her.

To her dismay, Bellamy did not leave it at that. “Also, I still see excrements all over this side of the yard. Maybe I wasn’t clear enough last time but – ”

Diplomacy had normally been Clarke’s strength in the family. Lexa had been the hot-headed passionate one. Clarke had been the rational one. But today was not a good day. She was in no mood to take the abuse and turn the other cheek. Unfortunately for Bellamy Blake.

“Oh, you were clear enough. Yeah. It’s quite clear that you enjoy picking on single mothers trying to get by in a new town. That you’re lonely and bitter, and you like to take it out on people who can’t clap back because _you_ have the power to kick them out of their house. But you know what? I don’t even care. Kick us out if that so pleases you. Go ahead and make yourself feel strong and commanding. But I’m not taking your shit anymore.”

She would have felt a lot more satisfied with her spiel, had it not been for the treacherous tears spilling out of her eyes as she spoke. Angry, near vengeful tears. Disgraceful tears, mostly.

Still, maybe they were the reason Bellamy stared, dumbfounded, instead of responding with his own snide remark.

She seized the opportunity to bring this wretched exchange to a culminating conclusion. “Leave my family alone.” And she slammed the door shut.

She thought a good minute passed by before she heard Bellamy Blake’s footsteps tread down the porch steps and across the gravel of her entryway.

And then, disquieting silence.


	2. The Aston Martin DB5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I write this fic, my search history is all over the place. I want to apologize to any governmental institutions currently spying on me for the confusing cocktail of keywords on there. It is the unfortunate affliction of writers.

The weather was surprisingly favourable for a mid-September afternoon. Madi was thankful for it, as she walked A.L.I.E. down the quiet roads of their neighbourhood.

When she had begged Clarke for a dog, she really hadn’t considered all that it entailed. Collecting poop and going for walks in stormy weather weren’t high up on her list of favourite pastimes. A.L.I.E. was lucky she was cute.

By now, Madi already knew their neighbourhood by heart, having walked around its entire network of small gravely roads multiple times since moving in. Small towns were weird. The people here all seemed to have spent their entire lives in this town, and to know everyone without fault. People watched her pass by with unabashed curiosity. Some smiled and waved. Others just stared.

It was quiet, she had to give it that. Much quieter than the city. Besides the nosy neighbours, it was a peaceful place.

She was almost back at the house, ready to curl up on the couch and watch TV, when she noticed activity outside their new neighbour and landlord’s house.

The grumpy man – whom she’d only met a couple of times and had mostly kept her distance from, seeing as Clarke had no kind words to dispense on his behalf – was outside in his entryway, wearing old jeans and a dirty t-shirt. He was busy working on a car’s engine, too absorbed into his labour to notice Madi passing by. Even with the hood lifted, Madi could tell that the car was a model she had only ever seen in James Bond movies. It was old-looking, yet appeared to be in pristine condition. It was one of those classic models fancy rich people collected. Which was odd. She hadn’t pegged Bellamy Blake as the fancy rich people type. Sure, he owned two houses, but they were both mobile homes in a boring small town. What kind of rich person would choose to live here?

She couldn’t help but stop and stare, in spite of A.L.I.E. eagerly pulling on the leash. She wouldn’t have called herself a car person, but manual work had always fascinated her. It was so different from what she had known, living with Clarke and Lexa, two perpetual intellectuals.

She stood in place for a handful of long quiet minutes, observing the man’s attentive repair work, all while absentmindedly tugging on A.L.I.E.’s leash to keep her quiet.

Unfortunately, A.L.I.E. was not a patient dog. When her pulling efforts failed to bring results, she brazenly and – alas – audibly squeaked in theatrical disagreement. The man, who had until that point remained unaware of his (in)discrete audience, suddenly raised his head and saw them. First, he looked surprised and slightly dazed, as he was abruptly pulled from his deep state of concentration. Then, sizing up the girl by the side of the road, he switched to barely veiled contempt.

Before he could shoo her away, however, Madi blurted out the first thing she could think of.

“That’s a cool car.”

She tried to sound more appreciative than admirative. This didn’t look like the kind of man to be easily swayed by over-eager children. Not that she _was_ a child. She most certainly wasn’t. But that man looked like he wouldn’t necessarily be able to tell the difference. She didn’t want to confuse him.

He considered her statement with indecipherable frigidity, for what felt like the longest seconds Madi had ever experienced. She fully expected him to go back to his work without acknowledging that she had said anything.

Instead, he took a step back from the car and grabbed the dirty rag that hung from his back pocket. He roughly cleaned his hands while appraising Madi with what looked like mild interest.

“You like old cars?”

Encouraged by the innocuous question, she raised her chin up high, trying hard to project the confident air of a connoisseur. “Yeah. I do.”

Bellamy nodded in acknowledgment, and Madi thought she saw the hint of a smirk tug at his lips. The jury was still out on whether she liked that reaction or not.

He asked his next question in what sounded like genuine interest, though. “What’s your favourite car?”

She racked her brain for an answer, but let none of her anxious scrambling transpire on her face. “A ’67 Chevy Impala.”

Bellamy whistled his approbation, and that was the most emotion Madi had ever seen on the man’s face since moving here. “That’s a good one,” he humbly admitted. She felt like she’d just passed a very important test. She matched the man’s now more relaxed stance.

Presenting only a hint of a smile, he pointed at the car behind him with a tilt of his head. “You know that one?”

Worried she’d sound ignorant, she kept to vague territory. “I’ve seen it before.”

“It’s an Aston Martin DB5.”

She nodded as she looked over the old model once more, as if seeing it in a new light. Now too curious to worry about how it would make her look, she asked, “Is it the one from the James Bond movies?”

Bellamy surprised her with a heartfelt chuckle. “Yes. Yes it is.”

He didn’t look like he was mocking her, so she smiled in return.

They stayed like this for a while, awkwardly staring at each other, each taking stock of the other, and neither knowing quite what to say. Eventually, he was the one to extend the invitation she had been secretly hoping for. “You wanna watch?”

She nodded excitedly.

And so he let her stay. Maybe he had meant for this to be a silent audience, but she asked a lot of questions, and he answered all of them with uncharacteristic patience as he worked. He even tolerated the dog’s presence on his property, which had to be the most surreal part of the whole scene.

She eventually left thirty minutes later, when they heard Clarke calling her back for dinner.

o0o0o

“You know, she only knows the ’67 Chevy Impala because of _Supernatural_.”

Bellamy wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his forearm and raised a puzzled look towards Clarke.

This had to be one of the very last warm days of the season, as summer slowly merged into autumn. Bellamy had turned up a few days ago, claiming he had work to do around the yard, stuff he’d put off for too long. He had spent a couple of hours weeding the flower beds and then left without a word. The next day, he was back to rake the leaves. Today, he was packing the dead leaves into plastic bags.

Part of Clarke was annoyed that he never asked permission, or at least gave a warning that he was coming over to do it, but somehow she sensed that this was his obstinately proud yet clumsy way of apologizing for his behaviour from before. She was pretty sure his capacity as a landlord did not require him to rake the leaves or do the gardening on his tenant’s yard. It wasn’t quite the apology she would have hoped for, but she figured she could cut him some slack. In the interest of any future peaceful co-existence.

In her own attempt at peacemaking, she had leaned against the railing of her porch while he worked, and initiated a light, nonbelligerent conversation. So far, there had yet to be any sparks.

“Supernatural?” he asked, looking up from the trash bag he was tying up. “Like ghosts and stuff?”

He was frowning in an authentic display of confusion, and the expression brought a chuckle out of Clarke. “No. I mean, yes. But it’s a TV show. You know, with two hot guys hunting ghosts and demons. She had the biggest crush on Sam.” She then frowned with a pensive air of sudden doubt. “Or was it Dean?”

She knew Madi would rip her apart if the girl heard what Clarke was babbling on to Bellamy about her. But Madi was in her room with her phone, so the chances of her being aware of anything simultaneously occurring in the real world were slim to none.

Bellamy looked like he had no idea what to do with the information offered to him. He eventually just shrugged, apparently giving up on trying to make sense of it. “Not much of a TV guy myself,” he admitted

“ _What?_ No way.”

Her sarcasm caused him to raise a suspicious eye in her direction. Seeing the unthreatening smile on her lips, he relaxed. He could be a bit of a caricature himself, he supposed.

There was a moment of silence, during which Bellamy worked quietly, almost forgetting the woman’s presence.

Until she spoke again, this time with a more unsettlingly heartfelt tone. “Thanks, by the way.” She waited for him to look up to continue. “For letting her stick around the other day. She wouldn’t admit it herself, but it made her very happy.”

Awkwardly, Bellamy nodded and shrugged as a way of dismissing the need for any thanks.

Still, she felt the need to insist. She wasn’t sure why, exactly. Maybe she just didn’t have people to talk to these days, and it was starting to show. “She’s been a good sport, you know. About the whole move and upheaval in our lives. She’s very mature for her age. But it’s been tough, and she gets bored around here. Plus, she’s always been fascinated by how things worked. At 10 years old, she already knew how to dismantle a computer. Unfortunately for us, it was only months later that she figured out how to put it back together.”

A smile etched itself on Bellamy’s face, in an uncharacteristic show of humanity and understanding. It was unsettling. But mainly, she was grateful he did not ask about the “us” in her story. There must have been something in her tone that advised him against prying. She really wasn’t in the mood for revisiting her recent past with someone who still pretty much qualified as a stranger.

Regardless, she suddenly felt silly for sharing any of this with him. She chuckled in dismissive humour. “Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is, thanks for humouring her. I know we haven’t been fans of each other, you and I, but it means a lot to me that you’re showing kindness to Madi.”

Bellamy could have chosen to take offense at the implications of that last bit, but he didn’t. He nodded, and then seemed to hesitate. Finally, he extended what Clarke knew to be the proverbial olive branch.

“She can come and help me out once in a while, if she wants. She looks like she could be of use.”

Clarke offered the most genuine smile she’d ever shown in his presence. “I think she’d love that.”

Bellamy nodded awkwardly and went back to work.

o0o0o

Madi learned many things about Bellamy Blake while working with him.

He was a U.S. Army veteran, which she thought was infinitely cool. She asked if he had any guns in his house, and he expertly avoided answering directly. She knew that had to mean yes.

He’d spent his entire life in this house, inheriting it from his mom. He now lived as a mash-up of a carpenter and mechanic. People in this town _loved_ classic cars, it seemed, and Bellamy had become these aficionados' go-to repair guy, even though he had never been formally trained as a mechanic. His uncle Charles Pike, the man who’d lived in the house Clarke and Madi now occupied, had taught him everything he knew about cars. They hadn't actually been related, but the old man has been there when the Blake children's parents hadn't. When Pike had gotten sick, Bellamy had inherited his contacts and clients. And when he had passed, Bellamy had gotten his house as well. The man hadn't had much family to speak of.

Bellamy also built furniture, house fixtures, and pretty much anything that was made out of wood. He’d built a shed at the back of his yard, which he’d fitted out to serve as his workshop.

It quickly became a habit for Madi to drop by every other day after school. If a client had brought in a car for repairs, Bellamy would tell her everything there was to know about this particular model, while also explaining in meticulous detail everything he was doing. Madi listened intently, practically drinking his words.

When there was no car to work on, he’d take her to the workshop and explain the properties of different wood varieties. He showed her different sample pieces he had on display and told her about the process of making them from scratch.

She was so taken with everything he showed her, that she barely noticed when he asked her questions about Clarke or herself. She always answered mechanically, as if it were but a distraction from what really mattered.

“So, your mom, she works a lot, huh?”

Madi, busy running her fingers over two different wood boards to try and notice the differences, replied inattentively. “Clarke’s not my mom.”

When she was met with silence, she looked up to find a startled-looking Bellamy staring back in confusion.

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not saying it in an angry teenager way. It’s just a fact. I’m adopted.”

“Oh.” Bellamy was taken aback, and Madi sighed, wishing people would just take in the information when she said it and move on. Why all the drama every time? She always felt like she had to go over her whole life story for it to make sense to people.

Not that it ever really did.

Seeing that Bellamy was still at a loss for words, she added simply, “I had a mom. And she sucked. Clarke isn’t my mom, and that makes her better.”

Bellamy nodded and asked no further questions. She was grateful for it.

o0o0o

Clarke stepped into the empty room with a mission. She had avoided it for weeks, and today was the day she would overcome this overwhelming impression of falling into an invisible void each time she drew near it. She was strong, and would not let silly memorabilia keep her from reaching her goal.

Walking in with more determination than the act of unpacking called for, she was shocked to find the room already cleared of any remaining boxes. The empty room was suddenly true to its name. Clarke knew it wasn’t her memory playing its trick on her. She hadn't touched those boxes.

“Madi!” she called in a mix of confusion and latent panic.

With the girl’s room being right next to the empty office, the teenager appeared quickly. “What?”

Then the girl noticed Clarke’s paler than normal complexion. Her gaze floated over to the insides of the office, and she understood.

Madi nervously fiddled with her fingers as she nonchalantly shrugged. “I just thought you’d want to get a start on setting up your office.”

Too many thoughts were running through Clarke’s head. She couldn’t muster up the words to ask what she needed to know. As if reading her mind, Madi answered anyway.

“I put her things away in the laundry room closet. Just temporarily, until…”

_Until we’re ready._

Overwhelmed with emotion, Clarke grabbed Madi's shoulders and pulled her into a violent hug. The girl dropped her usual discomfort around overt affection and eased into the embrace.

“Thank you,” Clarke murmured into Madi’s hair.

Madi shrugged. Clarke knew it to mean _it’s fine._

And maybe with a hint of _I love you_ in there as well.

o0o0o

By the time October rolled in, summer weather was already but a faint memory in their minds.

Whenever Madi dropped by Bellamy’s, they took refuge in his workshop. The girl attentively watched him work, occasionally asking questions. Most of the time, they shared a comfortable silence, which Madi felt certain was part of the reason why Bellamy tolerated – or, maybe even enjoyed – her company. She detained the precious ability to shut the fuck up when there was nothing worthy of saying.

When she spoke, it was with purpose.

“Clarke says she made too much spaghetti sauce. You can have some if you’d like.”

The man raised a look of dim surprise towards her, still unused to Clarke’s occasional demonstrations of kindness. Of course, the only reason she laid them out was that he got her daughter out of her hair once in a while. He didn’t fool himself into thinking his tenant actually found him agreeable. He himself was barely starting to consider her endurable, by extension of her slightly more-than-endurable daughter.

“Tell her I say thank you.”

“Will do.”

As he let himself get reabsorbed into the more meticulous details of this particular stage of his current project, Madi let her gaze wander around the small space. Like every other time she had been here, her eyes landed on the giant set of antlers hanging high up on the wall. She had been too shy to ask before, but now seemed as good a time as any.

“Are those real?”

When he looked away from his work to meet her eyes, she pointed at the antlers behind him.

He turned to look in the direction she pointed at, and grinned. “Yeah. They’re real.”

She looked impressed at that. “Did you kill it yourself?”

She thought Bellamy looked a little smug as he answered. “I did, as a matter of fact. Pike and I got it on a hunting trip we took a while back, when he was still healthy. I'd just returned from Afghanistan. It was the biggest specimen I’d ever seen. And I haven’t encountered one so striking since.”

The admiration in Madi’s eyes was so evident, Bellamy felt an ego rush that he knew he’d ride for a while.

Then, Madi sighed in defeat. “I wish I knew how to shoot a gun.”

Still riding that high, Bellamy offered without even thinking, “Maybe you can join me on a hunt one of these days.”

The unbounded joy pouring out onto Madi’s face was quite the sight.

o0o0o

Bellamy’s alarm clock read 6:02 when he was awoken by forceful pounding on his front door. He was the kind of person to routinely wake up at three or four in the morning, unable to go back to sleep, and _for once_ he had been getting a decent night of sleep.

Well, that was over now.

Hair defying gravity and eyelashes still sticking together, he cracked his front door open to reveal a very angry-looking Clarke. Arms crossed and lips tightly pressed in a single, thin line across her face, she looked ready to scrape someone’s eyeballs out.

And that someone was him, apparently.

“Hum. Good morning?” he tried innocently, in vain.

“Did you really tell Madi you’d take her hunting?”

Bellamy could almost see literal smoke emanating from the woman’s ears and he knew then that, whatever he said, it wouldn’t go well.

Carefully slipping out the door and swiftly closing it behind him, he tried to adorn the most innocuous expression he could muster.

“I said I could take her _one day_. If she wanted. _And_ if you were okay with it.” Never mind that the latter part hadn’t quite been part of the deal. Obviously he wouldn’t take the girl without getting her guardian’s permission first. That was just commonsense.

Plus, he had no plans to go hunting any time soon. It had been a very mindless, in-the-moment offer for the very distant future.

None of that mattered to Clarke, though.

“Well I am _not_ okay with it, thank you very much. And just in case that’s not commonsense to you, I’ll have you know that you are _not_ welcome to letting my daughter anywhere near those guns you apparently have in your house. Nor anything else that could jeopardize her safety in any way.”

Bellamy took offense to the implication in her words. Nonetheless, if it made her leave sooner, he’d bite the bullet. “Alright, I’m sorry.”

Unfortunately, Clarke did not leave it at that. “Yes, and you _should_ be sorry. I mean, what were you _thinking_? Do you think this is the freaking Wild West?”

Now, Bellamy may not have been the most even-tempered man this world had to offer, but he could demonstrate varying degrees of patience when he deemed it necessary. Still, he most certainly had his limits. And this was blatantly crossing them.

“Alright, Princess. You’ve said your piece. You can leave now.”

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

“Princess. ‘Cause that’s how you’re behaving right now.”

“Are you trying to make it seem like I’m the one in the wrong here?”

“No. I think you’re doing that just fine on your own.”

“Oh, and what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means that you don’t just get to show up at six in the morning and yell in my face like you own the place.”

“Oh, so because _you_ own the place you have every right?”

Bellamy slowly breathed in, and then out. Before he could even utter the words, Clarke knew this exchange was over.

“Get off my property.”

And without another word, Bellamy slipped back into his house. The door closed with a dreadful finality.

Fuming, Clarke marched angrily back to hers, ready to let Madi know she was not to see Bellamy Blake any time soon.


	3. A Punk With Hell's Angels Tattoos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like Octavia.
> 
> ... That's it. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

It was a quiet evening of mid-October. The breeze was crisp, but Clarke was obstinate. With a puffy scarf around her neck and gloves enveloping her fingers, she braved the fresh air to enjoy one more evening on her deck.

That was how she heard the commotion next door. Two voices were practically roaring at each other. One of them was definitely Bellamy’s. The other was a woman’s. And both were undeniably angry.

She was tempted for a moment to sneak back inside and spy on them through the kitchen window, but ultimately decided against it. This was none of her business, and she was determined to enjoy her evening of freedom before a long weekend of work awaited her at the clinic.

The voices eventually quieted down. Clarke heard a door slamming shut, and then nothing. A couple of minutes later, a woman appeared in Clarke's view. She was riding an old rusty bicycle, slowly exiting Bellamy's driveway, getting back on the road. She looked young, with long straight hair and no helmet to cover her head. Even from where she sat on her deck, a fair distance from the road, Clarke could see that the woman’s traits were sharp and intimidating, in spite of her short stature.

The mysterious woman looked like she was fuming, and swung the pedals a few times furiously, before noticing Clarke and abruptly stopping in her tracks. She eyed the latter with unveiled curiosity.

“Hey.” She called from the street.

Raising a single eyebrow, Clarke responded guardedly. “Hey.”

“You’re the new tenant?”

“That’s me.”

“Heard lots about you.”

“All good things I’m sure.”

The stranger snorted at that. “Sure.” Clarke relaxed when she sensed the young woman wasn’t trying to mock her. If anything, after hearing the whole debacle of the woman’s argument with Bellamy, Clarke sensed the woman wasn’t too prone to taking the landlord’s side. “Clarke, was it?”

“Yep.”

“Octavia. I’m the old grump’s sister.”

Huh. Clarke wasn't aware that Bellamy had a sister. Then again, if they always argued like that, maybe they weren’t on the best of terms.

“How exciting,” Clarke mused. That earned her another amused snort.

Octavia stepped off her bike and wheeled it alongside her on the lawn as she walked over to the edge of Clarke’s deck. She tilted her head in a vague pointing motion toward the road. “That your kid I saw walking around with the cute dog earlier?”

“That would be her.”

“How old is she?”

“Twelve.”

Octavia appraised her shamelessly, even raising an eyebrow in doubtful yet unimpressed surprise. “You don’t look old enough to have a twelve-year-old.”

From up close, Octavia resembled an overgrown teenager, with the carefully straightened hair, dark edgy clothes, and excessive eyeliner. She looked like she didn’t smile often, which apparently was a family trait. She also looked like she could kick some ass, and Clarke didn’t think she wanted to get on that woman’s bad side.

Octavia also had no filter, it seemed. She was very direct and entirely unfazed by the standard social protocols of meeting strangers. In a way, Clarke found it refreshing. It was better than the awkward hesitations she usually earned from people too polite to ask.

Clarke was used to having to explain their story anyway. “You’d be right to think so. I adopted her. She was my partner’s niece. Bad family situation. We took her in, and made it official when it was clear her dad didn’t care enough to give a shit.”

Octavia nodded like she understood. Maybe she did.

“Partner’s not around anymore,” Octavia noted matter-of-factly. Without hesitation or shame. She was merely pointing out the obvious.

Clarke could feel the usual knot forming in her throat, and fought not to let it show. “No. She’s not.”

“Hm. Died or bailed?”

Octavia asked it so casually, like people disappeared all the time and it was merely a case of ticking the right box on a form. Died or bailed: which one was it this time? Clarke supposed maybe the young woman did understand after all.

“Died.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

There was a brief pause, during which Octavia gazed back in the general direction of her brother’s house. “Well, at least you got the little one.”

That was the kind of positivity crap she got served all the time, and which always gave her near-literal rashes. It was irritating to hear, coming from someone who just had no idea.

Somehow, coming from Octavia, it didn’t feel quite so tone-deaf as it normally did. The younger Blake kept gazing towards Bellamy’s house, as if she could see it through the walls of Clarke’s house. When she finally met Clarke’s eyes again, she seemed to guess the question that hung in the air.

“Dad bailed. Mom died.” Octavia delivered the information like items off a list she recited too often.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke offered sympathetically.

“Save it for the choir. I never knew my dad. Bell never knew his. Our mom died when I was 18, but she wasn’t around much anyway in her later years. I had Bell, like you got your kid.”

Clarke nodded in understanding. She did have Madi. And every day she thanked whichever deity was out there that they hadn’t taken her too.

As if sensing the need for a lighter mood, Octavia chuckled dismissively. “Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Bell’s not the warmest human being you’ll ever meet.”

Clarke huffed. “I’ll say.”

Octavia grinned connivingly in return. “But hey, he may be a 31-year-old baby sometimes, but he’s a good man. His heart is in the right place.” Then she raised a pointed finger in warning. “But don’t ever tell him I said that. Especially as I’m supposed to be mad at him right now. But you know. We all have baggage.”

And Clarke supposed they did.

Octavia departed with a wave and a promise to try and keep Bellamy on a leash whenever she could, for his tenants’ benefit. Clarke knew instantly that she liked Octavia Blake, much more than her perplexing big brother.

o0o0o

Madi was very unhappy with the current state of things between them and their new neighbour, and very much blamed Clarke for the loss of her tragically short-lived pastime.

Clarke firmly believed that Bellamy had been in the wrong, not her, and that she was perfectly justified in her actions. Nonetheless, after two weeks of Madi’s sulking, she was ready to admit some level of fault if it brought any resolution to her uncharacteristically tense household.

She had hoped to leave the Tupperware on Bellamy’s porch and escape before she was caught. That, of course, failed to account for the man’s die-hard army reflexes. She hadn’t made it three steps away that she heard the scraping sound of Bellamy’s doddery door being pushed open.

“What are you doing?” His voice sounded like a thundering growl kept under wraps. It was low, controlled, and threatening.

She turned on her heels to find Bellamy standing squarely in his doorframe, keeping the door just open enough that he could eye her suspiciously, yet closed enough to deny her any view of the inside. Seeing no way of escape, she sighed in resignation.

“I had extra spaghetti sauce. It’s taking too much space in my freezer.”

Bellamy’s eyes lowered to the plastic container on his porch, and then narrowed back on her, apprehensively scouting for the catch in her strange offering.

“Why?” was all he asked, remaining on his guards.

“As I said, it’s taking up too much space in the freezer. If you don’t want it, you can give some to your sister.”

At that, Bellamy scoffed, as if it were the most preposterous suggestion she could make. “Octavia’s a vegetarian.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I can take it back, then.”

“No. No. I’ll take it.”

Moving carefully, Bellamy stepped outside and crouched to pick up the lone Tupperware from his porch. He then reverted to his stance in the doorframe, never quite taking his eyes off Clarke. She held back the scoff shaking her throat. He was treating her like an unpredictable wild animal.

They sized each other up for a moment, before Clarke finally shook her head to end it. “Alright then. I’ll go.”

“Wait.”

When she turned to face him once more, he was still looking at her through narrow eyes. He was assessing a potential opponent, and maybe internally debating his next course of action.

“You’re a nurse.”

It didn’t sound like a question. Clarke wasn’t sure how to answer. “Indeed.”

He seemed to weigh his options for a few more seconds, before apparently giving in. “Wait here.”

He disappeared inside for a moment, closing the door swiftly behind him. Clarke didn’t have much time to wonder what was even happening. The other door, which led out onto his deck, quickly swung open, and Bellamy reappeared, beckoning for her to join him there.

As she warily climbed the steps, he sat down into one of the pliable chairs and vaguely pointed towards another. She dragged it over and watched him silently roll his sleeve to reveal a shaggy-looking bandage on his arm.

“Woah," she let out, startled enough to forget her initial caution. "What happened?”

“Had a bit of a fall out with my handsaw.”

“I take it the saw won?”

Bellamy grumbled something in response, before slowly peeling away the bandage.

Clarke had no words to describe what she saw. And yet, she couldn’t keep the shocked exclamation from crossing her lips. “Oh my god, Bellamy! That’s really bad! Didn’t you see a doctor?”

Bellamy dismissed the outrage with a scowl. “It’s fine, it’s not even deep. It’s just been prickly of late, I wanna make sure it’s not infected.”

“How long ago was this?”

Bellamy shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Five days?”

“ _Jesus!_ A wound brought about by dirty tools is bound to lead to infection!”

“I poured bleach into it.”

She gave him a look that told him it wasn’t funny. Then she realized he wasn’t kidding.

“Are you _fucking_ serious?” She didn’t even know how to respond to that level of stupidity. She was a nurse - she thought she had already seen stupidity in all its possible forms. _Think again!_ “Were you raised by cavemen?”

Bellamy was losing patience too at this point. “Can't you just take a look?”

They stared at each other defiantly, before Clarke finally sighed in displeased resignation. Better her than no one at all. “Fine. Give me your arm.”

She adjusted her posture in the squeaky chair and delicately grabbed the arm he extended to her. She inspected the wound in studious silence, continually shaking her head disapprovingly at the state of it.

She had to admit, now that she was looking at it up close, that he had been right – it wasn’t that deep. And through some kind of miracle, it wasn’t infected. The bandage had held it together, and it was healing. The whole set up was janky as heck, but she supposed there was some level of military survival skills at play here.

“So?” Bellamy inquired after a while. “What’s the verdict?”

“My verdict is that you’re a lucky bastard.”

He huffed with an eerie hint of amusement. “Already knew that.”

“It’s not infected, but it’s going to leave a scar, which you could easily have avoided had you seen a doctor five days ago, like a normal person.”

“A scar’s fine.”

“No scar is also fine.”

Bellamy pulled his arm back, and started wrapping the bandage back into place. “Alright, well, thanks for taking a look.”

Clarke sighed audibly at his stubbornness. “Hold on. This is one of the worst bandages I’ve seen since that summer I volunteered in Florida. Yes, you heard me right, that monstrosity beats Florida Man's attempt at self-treatment." She extended an expectant hand towards him. "Let me do it.” 

Bellamy did not look keen. “It’s fine,” he insisted, obstinate.

He cowered from her touch, and that was the last straw for Clarke. “Just listen to a professional for _once_ , will you?”

Bellamy offered a very unimpressed look of defiance. Even so, he quietly handed out his arm to her, eyeing her in a weirdly confrontational manner.

She ignored it and focused her attention on his wound. “Do you have a first aid kit? Disinfectant, and the like?”

“There’s more bleach where that came from.”

“ _O_ -kay, now you’re just trying to piss me off.”

A shadow of a smirk pulled at the man’s lips. She fought hard to keep her angry look predominantly featured on her own face.

“Alright,” she offered in exasperation. “Just, don’t move. I’ll go get mine.”

He patiently waited out on his deck while she jogged over to her house and returned with her first aid kit. When she sat back in her chair, she worked in silence, while he gazed out into the distance.

As she finished properly bandaging his arm, she caught sight of a book on the faded plastic table nearby. It had been left there from an earlier reading session, she supposed. The man didn’t seem to feel the cold like the rest of them mortal beings. He spent hours at a time outside, reading peacefully, as if it were a cozy afternoon in June, rather than evening in October. Meanwhile, Clarke could barely stand to walk the dog thirty minutes without shaking wildly like a madwoman.

Curious, and admittedly bored, she dared ask. “What are you reading?”

“Stephen King.”

Clarke halted her actions to give him a pointed look. “Huh. Didn’t peg you as the novel-reading type.”

Bellamy frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t peg you as the novel-reading type.” And with that, she resumed bandaging his arm, like nothing. “Which one is this one?”

“Pet Sematary.”

Clarke winced. “Oof, I can’t with that one.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“Kids dying just get me.”

Bellamy nodded slowly. “Hm. Makes sense.”

“Unless they’re the teens from _Carrie_. Then they’re assholes who deserve it.”

Bellamy’s features twisted into a merrily doubtful expression. “I think it’s more nuanced than that.”

“Nope. They’re bullies. They deserved it.”

“Protective mom, huh?”

“You could say that.”

There was a brief pause, and Clarke was shocked to hear Bellamy be the one to fill the silence this time.

“Octavia lent me this book. It’s not my favourite.”

Clarke saw it as her in to ask about the young woman. “It sounded like you two had a bit of a disagreement the other day.”

Bellamy sighed with deep unresolved frustration. “Octavia is a 24-year-old teenager who didn’t get to act out as an actual teen, so she’s rebelling now. She just started dating this new punk. Lincoln something. Who’s even called Lincoln nowadays?” He shook his head, as if to refocus. “Anyway. Shaved head, tattoos. You see the type. She’s probably just trying to get a reaction out of me by seeing him.”

“And evidently it’s working.”

He looked at her with staggering surprise, before easing into a smile of defeat. _Touché._

When he failed to continue rambling, Clarke asked, “So what’s wrong with this Lincoln guy anyway?”

He looked at her like she was the slow one now. “Didn’t I _just_ say he’s a punk with Hell’s Angels tattoos?”

“Well you didn’t mention the Hell’s Angels part. Are they actual Hell’s Angels tattoos, or just tattoos with a hyperbole on your part?”

He scoffed, now annoyed. “I don’t _know_ what Hell’s Angels tattoos look like!”

“Oh, ok, so you’re just judgmental, I see.” With her chin, she pointed back at the book. “Do you pick all of your books based on their cover?”

Bellamy looked plainly displeased, but did not grace her comment with a response. Clarke finished the bandage and quietly gathered her things.

As she made to leave, she looked back one more time.

“Can you just promise me one thing?”

He looked up with more curiosity than irritation. “What?”

“That you won’t let Madi touch anything sharp next time she comes over?”

Bellamy slowly took in the implications before smiling hesitantly.

“Promised.”

On that, she walked away quietly, feeling lighter, if a little nonplussed at the scene that had just unfolded.


	4. The Mercedes 300SL Gullwing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at all that baggage. Must have paid so much in extra baggage fees.
> 
> Warning: this chapter broaches the subject of panic attacks.

“Is there something wrong with Bellamy’s house?”

Clarke glanced over at Madi with piqued interest. The girl absentmindedly picked at her pasta, sitting across from Clarke at the kitchen island. The question had seemingly come out of the left field, and Clarke assumed it had been circling around the girl's mind for a while already.

“What do you mean?” she asked softly, casually taking a bite of food to avoid looking too vehement.

Madi shrugged, which she usually did when she couldn’t quite find the words to explain what was on her mind. “I don’t know, it’s just…” Her face pulled into a pensive pout before she continued. “He acted weird today.”

Clarke frowned in hesitant concern. “What happened?”

“Nothing bad, just... We were just drinking lemonade in the shop, and then he got up to bring the glasses back inside. I offered to help, he said no. Then, while he was gone, I saw he left a bottle behind, so I thought, ‘ _hey, I’ll bring it to him so he won’t have to make a second trip_!’ I had made it to the porch when he stepped out, and he got all weird when he saw me there. He was all like, ‘ _what are you doing?_ ’ and I was like, ‘ _just bringing you this bottle_.’ He snatched it out of my hand and started telling me not to go into his house uninvited and everything. He just… freaked out for nothing.”

Clarke frowned, wondering how much of the interaction was being exaggerated by Madi’s biased retelling. It did sound pretty weird, though. “What happened then?”

“Nothing. We just went back to the shop and he acted as if nothing had happened.”

Clarke nodded pensively. She thought about it for a moment, and failing to come up with a reasonable explanation for the absent man’s behaviour, she eventually shrugged it off. “Some people are just particular about their living space. We have to respect that.”

Madi rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her cooling plate of pasta.

o0o0o

It was silly.

But once Madi pointed it out, Clarke couldn’t help but notice how no one ever seemed to go inside Bellamy’s house. Not even Octavia who, when she visited, sat out with him on the deck or by the fire pit, and left without having stepped inside once.

Bellamy rarely had friends over, but once or twice, Clarke had seen him having a beer out by the fire with guy friends. The names Murphy and Miller were thrown around, but she never met them officially. All she knew was that none of them ever went inside, not even for bathroom emergencies.

Clarke wasn’t proud of herself for spying, but as the days grew shorter and colder, it became so much easier to obsess over foolish things. And that kitchen window was way too conveniently placed.

One night, she was rash enough to watch him with her kitchen lights on. It wasn’t fully dark out yet, but it was just dim enough for her to stand out like a sore thumb at her window. Bellamy was logging wood into his shop, and as he stopped to stretch his arms and crack his neck, his eyes mindlessly traveled over to the neighbouring house and suddenly rested on Clarke at the window.

Caught red-handed, she scampered away from the window and didn’t dare look again.

Two days later, as she stepped out of the house in the morning to go to work, she was met with a new set of small curtains left for her on her porch railing.

She fought the shameful blush all the way to the clinic, and throughout the early hours of her shift. She knew she wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes for a while, now.

o0o0o

“Fucking piece of junk house,” Clarked grumbled, uncomfortably propped on the floor by the kitchen sink, trying – and failing – to figure out the problem.

It was the law of the universe that, after the ridiculously long day she had had at work, she would come home to dysfunctional plumbing.

Clarke liked to think she was a resourceful woman. She was yet to be defeated by a spider, tightly-screwed jar, or renovation project. Yet plumbing, apparently, was her Achilles heel. After a solid hour of frustrated swearing and irritated admonishing by Madi, she finally admitted she’d have to call Mr. Landlord Extraordinaire.

Bellamy was over in a matter of minutes. Being true to himself, he instantly assumed they had done something wrong, and grumbled his way through the repair work.

Thankfully for Clarke, Madi sat on the counter the whole time and carried out a very animated one-sided conversation, as if his grumpy attitude were of no consequence to her. Funnily enough, Madi’s carefree chatter seemed to lighten up the overall mood in the room, and Clarke found herself observing the scene with unveiled amusement.

When Bellamy finally re-emerged from below the sink to test the results of his work, he caught sight of Clarke’s grin.

“What?” he asked, eyeing her dubiously.

She shook her head innocently. “Nothing.”

Plot twist: the plumbing issue hadn’t been the girls’ fault at all, it turned out.

Not that Bellamy admitted it too loudly, of course.

o0o0o

One evening, Madi returned home much sooner than anticipated. She slammed the front door and rushed to her room, slamming that door as well, for good measure.

When her gentle scolding about treating innocent doors with respect failed to induce a reaction, Clarke turned to kind coaxing. Eventually, Madi mumbled something about Bellamy being an asshole. Which, evidently, was accurate, but also an inadequate use of language for a twelve-year-old.

Piecing back together the sparse information Madi provided, Clarke gathered that her daughter had accidentally dropped something heavy on the ground of Bellamy’s workshop, causing a racket that startled him. No one got hurt, and nothing was broken, but Bellamy snapped at her harshly, shouting at her to leave if she was just going to be a clutz.

Clarke felt very much tempted to go over there and give him a piece of her mind about the way he treated young girls, but she tried to rein it in for Madi’s sake.

“Do you want me to go talk to him?” she offered intently.

“NO! That would be so much worse!”

Clarke sighed. “Alright. Then just give it time, okay? Maybe he’ll apologize when he’s had time to think.”

In the following days, things went back to normal. Madi claimed that he did apologize, although it remained unclear whether he had provided an explanation for his exaggerated reaction. Madi didn’t seem to mind, and she resumed her visits per normal.

There were times like these when Clarke supposed it was best to let it be.

o0o0o

It was a cold afternoon of mid-November when Bellamy’s knuckles rasped in uncharacteristic excitement at their door.

“Okay,” Clarke blurted out firmly, pointing an austere finger at him before he could say anything. “I know for a fact that A.L.I.E. hasn’t pooped anywhere in the last few hours.”

Bellamy barely paid it any mind, merely shaking his head to dismiss her assumptions. “No, it’s not that. I have something to show Madi.”

“Oh.” She looked surprised. And she was. “Alright. Let me get her, then.”

“I mean,” Bellamy added, like a guilty afterthought, “you can come too. It’s a car thing, though.”

She raised a defying eyebrow at his implied dismissal. “I can appreciate a cool car.”

“Alright, if you say so.”

Madi was eerily quick to drop her phone and meet Bellamy outside. Clarke, whose curiosity was definitely piqued – and who wouldn’t give Bellamy the satisfaction of proving him right on her usual lack of interest in cars – idly followed them both towards Bellamy’s yard.

The sight that awaited them in the driveway was stunning. So much so that even Clarke let an expression of admiring shock transpire on her face.

“Is that a DeLorean?” she asked in disbelief.

She did not miss the amused grin on Bellamy’s face.

“No, but I very much respect that your mind went there.” He then turned to Madi, who hadn’t yet provided an audible response. “It’s a Mercedes 300SL Gullwing.”

While Madi nodded idolizingly, Clarke narrowed her eyes dubiously. “I’m pretty sure that’s a DeLorean,” she muttered.

“Nope. It’s a Mercedes 300SL Gullwing. Just listen to a professional for once, will you?”

His smile, albeit soberingly faint, was 45% sarcasm and 55% derision. She matched it the best she could.

Madi, meanwhile, remained entirely uninterested in the adults’ bickering. “Don’t these cost, like, a _shit load_ of money?” she asked keenly, ignoring their comments.

Clarke wanted to chastise Madi for her language, but Bellamy was too fast to respond. He returned his attention to the girl, and in spite of the amusement Madi’s outbursts clearly brought to his expression, Clarke could tell he always responded with the amount of respect due to an equal.

“They do. This baby belongs to a friend in the city. I’ve been waiting a long time for the chance to work on it, and today’s the day. Now, since the weather’s getting much colder, I’ll be moving it to a garage space I’m renting at Reyes’ repair shop for the winter, but before I do, I was thinking that if you want to…” He paused, and turned to Clarke, looking her pointedly in the eyes as he added, “ _and_ if Clarke is okay with it, we could go for a ride around town.”

Clarke wanted to let him know that asking for permission in front of Madi kind of defeated the purpose because now _she_ would be the bad guy if she refused.

But seeing Madi barely keeping it together as she anxiously awaited her answer, Clarke knew she couldn’t deny her that permission. With a deep sigh, she agreed.

“Alright.”

Madi bounced her way towards her and hugged her excitedly, before rushing with flailing limbs towards the passenger door.

Bellamy looked more serious as he eyed Clarke once more. “I would offer you to come with, but it’s a two-seat car. Unless I can interest you in the roof?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “It’s fine. Just be careful. Don’t go far, don’t go over speed limits, and don’t do anything stupid.”

Bellamy raised both hands defensively and offered his most innocent expression. “Me? Never.”

“Okay, well. _Now_ I’m worried.”

Bellamy chuckled lightly as he looked over Madi, impatiently waiting for him in the car. “We’ll just go around the block a few times.”

Clarke smiled more genuinely this time. “I know,” she said, softly.

And on that, Bellamy circled the futuristic silver car and stepped into the driver’s seat. The motor rumbled, and the car slid towards the road slowly.

She waved as they disappeared past the corner.

o0o0o

Clarke sat on her deck, in spite of the cold weather, to wait for them.

The sun lowered in the sky as time passed. When they had been gone for twenty minutes, Clarke started wondering if the ‘few times around the block’ had morphed into more ambitious plans. She’d be sure to tell Bellamy this wasn’t cool, whenever they returned.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Bellamy. She did, weirdly enough. It had become clear over the last couple of months how fond he had grown of the girl. Clarke had no doubts he would never do anything to endanger her.

But Bellamy also wasn’t a father. He didn’t know what it felt like to wait for your child to come home, to watch the minutes go by and to know there was nothing you could do to make it happen sooner, or ever at all.

Thirty minutes into her wait, she was reaching a new height of irritation. That was also when she heard the engine of the car turn the corner onto their street. Seconds later, it drew into her driveway.

Her first reflex was to wonder why Bellamy was parking the car in her driveway, rather than his. Then, she watched Bellamy exit the car with more urgency and anxiety than she had ever seen him display so overtly. He ran to the passenger door while calling for Clarke.

“Clarke! Madi’s not well, I don’t know what happened!”

He sounded out of breath, and Clarke’s instincts kicked in instantly. She practically jumped off the deck and ran to the car, where she witnessed Bellamy trying to delicately pull a hyperventilating Madi out of the car.

Unceremoniously, she pushed Bellamy away to take his place, and crouched to face her daughter.

“Madi. Madi, look at me.” She gently stroked the girl’s hair as she spoke, which she knew helped ground her. “Honey, I’m here. Listen to me. You’re okay. You’re home. You’re safe.”

Clarke slowly reached for Madi’s feet and delicately pulled them out of the car, just to let them rest on the ground of the driveway. Madi shifted her position to allow it and seemed more aware of Clarke’s presence as she did so.

Clarke never stopped talking and kept her voice as soothing as she could manage it in the midst of the all-consuming anxiety she was herself drowning in.

“Madi, breathe with me.” She wrapped her fingers around the girl’s hand and led it towards her heart. Then, Clarke breathed in slowly, making sure the girl matched her pace, before exhaling heavily.

She repeated that pattern multiple times, until the girl’s breathing sounded more controlled. When Clarke felt that Madi had somewhat regularized her breathing, she guided her arm around her shoulders and helped her out of the car.

“Let me help,” Bellamy offered, stepping forward with outstretched arms.

“Don’t.” Clarke’s voice was firm, cutting. Her eyes said the rest as she made eye contact. _Don’t touch her. You’ve done enough._

Under Bellamy’s bewildered and hurt surveyance, Clarke carried Madi inside.

o0o0o

While Clarke rocked Madi to sleep in her room, softly singing some of her favourite rhymes from when she was a child, she vaguely heard the engine of the car starting, and the car being moved to the neighbouring driveway.

An hour later, when Madi was finally asleep and Clarke silently left her room, she tiredly glanced out the living room window. Bellamy was still there. He sat quietly on the porch steps, elbows on his knees and fingers tangled in his own hair.

When he heard the scratching sound of the door opening, he turned back to look up at her. What she saw in his pitch-black pupils was pure, agonizing worry.

He spoke with a low and raspy voice, somewhere between a grating whisper and a throbbing growl. “We were just driving. We weren’t going fast.”

Clarke sighed and nodded weakly. “I know.”

She slipped back into the house, leaving the door open. Bellamy patiently waited for her to return. When she did, she held a picture frame.

She closed the door behind her and sat on the steps by his side. Without a word, and with barely a glance towards the object in question, she handed it to him. Confounded, he took it and flipped it to look at the picture it held.

He recognized Clarke and a younger Madi. And also a stranger, a young woman. Beautiful, with long, light brown hair tied in an effortless ponytail. A thin, elongated face and delicate features, paired with an indescribable fierceness to her eyes. They were on the beach, and the woman held Clarke and Madi lovingly, one in each arm. They all looked so happy, airy, unburdened with the invisible worries of their current life.

“That’s Lexa," Clarke explained gently. "Lexa Heda. Madi’s biological aunt and adoptive mom. And also the love of my life.”

Bellamy silently looked up and met Clarke’s eyes. He was used to seeing her through the impenetrable walls of the barricade she held up around herself, at every hour of every day. It was the persona she had become out of necessity - Clarke Griffin was strong because she had to, for Madi. Like a lioness, she watched over her cub fiercely, tearing any threat to shreds, to keep her daughter safe.

But the Clarke who held his gaze in that moment was eerily vulnerable and authentic. He could tell she was trusting him with information she dispensed sparsely, and with the highest caution.

So, he listened.

“When I met Lexa, I was twenty years old and stupid. As most of us are at that age, I guess. She was twenty-four, and already looked she had her life figured out. She was just starting out as a teacher. She volunteered at a local shelter for the homeless, and she was an activist, always fighting for the rights of the less fortunate. She believed in making this world a better place; one lesson, one bowl of soup, and one march at a time. She believed it was possible, and I believed it too; I knew she could do it, and maybe if I stayed by her side, I could too. She could make you see the best in others and yourself. Needless to say, I was madly in love. And the most miraculous part of it was that she loved me back. Me, who had no clue what to do with my life, no purpose, nothing to provide. But she believed in me nonetheless.

“We started dating. Not long after that, I started my nursing degree. And it all clicked. I was convinced she'd made it happen – the miracle of me finally figuring out my purpose. She disagreed. She said it was really me who'd made it happen; all me.

“There was just one blemish in the perfect picture that was Lexa. She had a brother. He was the complete antithesis of her. Dark, mean, abusive. He had a daughter with a poor wretched little thing, disconsolate enough to think he loved her. That woman was an addict, not much of a presence for her daughter. As for Lexa’s brother, he’d disappear for long stretches of time, and then reappear, only to render his family’s life even more miserable.

“The mom died of an overdose. Madi was eight. We took her in. I was only twenty-two, but when Madi waltzed into our life, everything changed. I became an adult. I became responsible. And I loved. More than I thought possible. _God,_ I loved that kid. When Madi turned 10, we made it official, and we adopted her. Her dad, who had been absent for pretty much that whole time, did the only decent thing of his life by signing the papers. Then he went away, never to be seen again. And we were _happy._ ”

Clarke’s voice cracked, and Bellamy knew that was where the story took a sharp, unfortunate turn for the worst.

He hardly needed Clarke to say the words at this point.

“Last year, when Madi was 11, there was an accident. A car crash. And just like that, Lexa was gone.”

Clarke breathed in deeply. She had broken eye contact as the story progressed, and now she gazed up at the darkening blue clouds above, blinking more than strictly normal, visibly fighting to keep her emotions under control.

Without having to think about it too hard, Bellamy filled in the blanks. It didn’t quite come out as a question, because it wasn’t, not really. “Madi was in the car.”

Clarke nodded as her eyes lowered to the ground. Her lips were tightly shut, to stop them from shaking.

After a few deep breaths, she seemed to have it under control once more. She continued.

“She was incredibly lucky. She had a concussion and a few bruises, but she got off easy. Although, none of it was easy at all. That child went through unspeakable trauma. Just like that, she lost a second mom. For months, she’d wake up screaming, desperately asking for Lexa until it sank in again that she was gone. She had nightmares for much longer than that. And the panic attacks, while they’re much sparser now, they still happen.

“It doesn’t take much. A sudden rise in traffic, a suspicious rumbling sound from the engine, or any sudden noise while on the road. Every time, we'd think they were behind us, and then it would happen again. Eventually, it became clear we had to get out of the city. Find someplace quieter. A place with less traffic, but mostly where we could start fresh.”

There was a long pause, as Clarke stared into nothingness. It was much darker out now. Clarke briefly wondered what time it was, and she started when she felt a hand slip into hers hesitantly.

She met Bellamy’s eyes again. None of his guards were up. He was just there. Here. With her.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out softly.

She made an effort to smile and shook her head. “No. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. It wasn’t your fault. If anything, I should have known this would happen.” Then she shook her head again, this time to shake away the bad vibes. “And sorry for the sappy story. I didn’t mean to overshare, it’s just… I guess I wanted you to understand.”

Bellamy’s hand squeezed around hers.

And as they looked at each other plainly, silently and without artifices, Clarke felt that Bellamy did somehow understand.


	5. Christmas Trees and Maple Syrup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baggage? Hold on, there's more.
> 
> Warning: this chapter broaches themes relating to mental health.

Madi stayed home for a few days following the incident. Then, she started showing up at Bellamy’s workshop again, acting like nothing had happened. She knew what he knew, but they both said nothing of it, and things went back to a semblance of normalcy.

He noticed how she started showing interest in the books he carelessly left around the shop or on his deck. When he deemed the books too graphic for her age, he told her the overall synopsis. When the book seemed appropriate, however, he let her borrow it.

Always on one condition, though.

“Ask Clarke first, please. No need to unleash that woman’s wrath upon me.”

Madi would snort and slip the book into her backpack, before resuming whatever task she’d been doing prior.

o0o0o

By December, they had an undeniable routine going on, and Madi was even starting to provide more hands-on help for Bellamy’s carpentry projects – although the man kept his promise to Clarke and left sharp tools out of Madi’s reach at all times.

It was thus unusual for Madi to show up at her habitual time after school, and find the workshop locked. She knocked on the small shed’s wooden door, just in case, but she knew that for it to be locked from the outside like this, no one could logically be inside.

Bellamy’s car – the very unimpressive one he actually owned and used for transportation – was in the driveway, which meant he was home.

Bellamy couldn’t have forgotten. He’d offered a casual “see ya tomorrow” the day before, when Madi had left to go eat dinner at home. He rarely went out, and wouldn’t just leave without his car.

Plus, they’d agreed. Why wasn’t he there?

Hesitantly at first, and then with determination, Madi walked over to the front porch and knocked on the door.

Nothing happened. No one came. She knocked again, still nothing.

She knocked a few more times, each time with more force, just in case he couldn’t hear her. The house wasn’t that big, though. Spurred by the indignation of getting stood up, she climbed down the porch and walked over to the deck, so she could knock on that door too. If the configuration of the house was the same as theirs, that door would be closer to the master bedroom, so he should hear her better.

Still, nothing.

She was about to turn around and leave, shoulders slumped in defeat, when a noise caught her attention. It came from inside and sounded like something falling, hard, the echo reverberating against the inner walls of the house. It didn’t sound like a person falling, but her thoughts went railing, going through one crazy scenario after the other, each new theory more far-fetched than the one before. Instinctively, she reached for the knob of the deck door.

Locked.

Without even stopping to think about it, she ran back to the porch, jumped over the steps two at a time, and tried the front door.

Unlocked. Clearly an oversight on Bellamy’s part. That thought only further convinced her that she needed to investigate what was going on. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Her first thought was that it was too dark in there. It was strange, the sun hadn’t set yet. It shouldn’t have been this dim. She waited for her eyes to adjust, and when they did, she couldn’t quite make sense of what she saw.

Stuff. So much stuff. Piles and piles of boxes, newspapers, books, clothes, toiletries, unplugged electronics. There was so much, it practically reached the ceilings. It all towered over Madi, obstructing any natural light from reaching her, and she felt small, uncomfortable, out of place. Like she’d stepped into a world she was never meant to see. Only a narrow, jagged path allowed passage into the house, and the thought of following it felt ominous and scary.

There was a show Clarke used to watch, a few years back, when she needed to take her mind off the stresses of her day. They were reruns of that old reality show _Hoarders_ , where these crazy people who collected endless stuff, never dispensing with any of it, would receive help from professionals to get their life back into order. Madi had watched it with Clarke a few times. She remembered thinking that no house could actually look like _that_. You had to have a serious problem to let it get to that point. Every time, she turned to Clarke and said, “Hey, at least my room’s not that bad, huh?” It never quite spurred the effect she’d hoped for.

This was like that. This looked just like the houses in the show, with the crazy people.

Bellamy wasn’t a crazy person. How did that even make any sense?

She dared a few steps into the house, looking around in stunned, near-perverse awe. For a moment, she forgot why she had come inside in the first place. All she could do was take in the mess. Most of the boxes looked old, torn, stained. One of them had fungus growing on it. Madi grimaced in disgust. If _that_ was on the surface, how bad must it be, deeper into those walls of eclectic items?

Not everything was in boxes. There were piles of moldy magazines and books, and mounts of old TVs, toasters, and a bunch of other electronics that clearly hadn’t seen the light of day in years. She couldn’t see any furniture to speak of, but maybe it was just somewhere under all of it, camouflaged into the mess. The floor felt weird under her feet, and when she looked down, she found that there were no floors to speak of. None that she could see, at least. All of it was covered in a thick layer of old newspaper, which had absorbed humidity, and dried again, making it seem like Madi was walking on paper mâché. The deeper she drew into the house, the more rancid the ambient smell got. When she made it to the kitchen, she understood. Every inch of the counter and island space was covered in old dirty dishes, piled in what seemed like an initial attempt at organization, followed by defeated capitulation.

None of this made any sense. People who lived in houses like these, they didn’t look like Bellamy. Sure, the guy didn’t dress like a GQ model, but he didn’t dress like a homeless person either. He dressed in work clothes, but he still looked presentable. He was always clean-shaven, and he certainly didn’t smell like his kitchen did. He didn't look like he lived in a place like this. He looked… normal.

Some distant rustling on her left finally drew her attention back to her initial purpose – finding Bellamy. The noise came from what had to be the master bedroom. The door was closed, and hesitantly, with more anxious fear than she thought should make sense in Bellamy’s universe, she drew to it and knocked.

At first, there was nothing. Then, there was a low, distant groan. Slowly, she turned the knob and opened the door.

And there he was. In the generalized darkness of the house, with the added shadows of the now-setting sun, she could barely make out his silhouette on the bed, but he was definitely there. Lying under the covers, immobile, and surrounded by as many daunting piles of belongings as everywhere else in the house. There was a narrow path to the bed, which stood as one of the only surfaces of the house to remain somewhat clean.

“Bellamy?” Her voice was weak and scared.

Seeing the man unmoving, she was particularly scared of him not responding. What if he was really sick? What if...? When she heard the faint rustling of feet under the covers, she let out a sigh of relief.

Still, the man looked unresponsive. She clumsily made her way to the bed and only then could she vaguely make out the features of his face.

He was awake. She could see it. But he looked drowsy and weak. He was blinking slowly, and then shutting his eyes tightly, as if trying to block out nonexistent sunrays. There was no light to speak of in here.

“Bellamy?”

He groaned, which did little to reassure her. Then it sounded like he was talking, but he was whispering so faintly, it took her a moment to make out the words spoken so softly.

“Go away.”

He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound like he had the energy to be. He sounded tired, barely aware of his surroundings. And he sounded like he was in mind-numbing pain.

“Bellamy? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Another distant groan. He repeated the same words. And winced.

That was the moment Madi had to admit that all of this was too much for her to handle. She was too far out of her depth.

She made her way out of the house as quickly as she could, and ran home to get Clarke.

o0o0o

In spite of the blurry darkness in which he’d been mutely existing for the past 24 hours, Bellamy recognized the short, delicate frame of Clarke stepping into the room.

Seeing her in his bedroom sent his heart deep into his chest, sinking. First Madi, now Clarke. This was more people in his house than there had been in years. This wasn’t meant to happen. Had he not been so numb, he’d have been overrun with anxiety and indignation.

Instead, all he felt was pain. Inexplicable, searing pain that felt both intangible and indubitably real. He was too tired to try and pinpoint what it was, where it came from. It was just there.

He groaned as Clark drew nearer, and he only felt a murky sense of relief upon realizing that Madi was not with her.

“Bellamy. What’s wrong?”

Her voice came as a beacon of soft, warm light. Soothing, balmy, unalarming. She sat on the edge of the bed, just far enough that she wouldn’t invade his personal space, but close enough for him to distinguish her features. She looked calm, unperturbed. He wondered why she wasn’t running for the hills, seeing him like this, sick and useless, in an angry sea of overwhelming mess. Maybe this was what Clarke looked like on duty. Nurse Clarke was gentle and prudent, yet carried a confidence that almost made him want to trust her blindly and let all worries get blown by the wind.

Not quite, though. He wanted to tell her to go away, to leave him alone, but he didn’t have the strength to do it anymore.

“Bellamy, talk to me. What can I do to help?”

When he failed to answer, she accepted the silence. She stayed with him for an unclear amount of time, before finally rising and exiting the room. Bellamy heard the muffled sound of pots being tentatively moved around in the kitchen, followed by a dejected sigh, and quiet steps drawing away. When he heard the front door open and close, he thought he was finally alone. He felt relieved. And sorely disheartened.

Not long after – maybe he had fallen asleep in the meantime, maybe it was truly just a matter of minutes – he heard the door again, and Clarke was back in the room with a plate of food.

He mustered his strength to speak out the words “not hungry.”

She shrugged. “I know. But it’s there if you want it later.” She carefully picked items off the bedside table, and laid the plate on it. Then, she crouched to his level, and asked softly, “Do you have medicine somewhere? Something you need to take?”

He nodded weakly in response.

“Where is it?”

His voice was raspy as he vocalized the syllables. “Ba-throom.”

She nodded and headed towards the small connected bathroom. He heard the rustling sounds of her searching through his cabinet. Then, she returned with a familiar pill bottle in hand. She used the faint light emanating from the bathroom to read the prescription, and left the correct dosage on the edge of the plate of food. Then, she disappeared into the kitchen again, returned with a glass of water to add to his new collection of items.

She then crouched one last time and smiled. “Can I help with anything?”

He blinked drowsily and sighed in response.

She nodded in understanding. “Alright. Get some sleep, then.”

She left the house quietly.

o0o0o

Clarke came again the next day, after work.

The plate of food was untouched, but the glass of water was half empty, and the pills were gone.

He looked more awake. Clarke was tempted to say he looked better, albeit gloomy. He still lied in bed, taciturn, barely acknowledging her presence as he stared intently at the ceiling. She sensed that his unresponsiveness was a choice, this time. A by-product of the shame too often experienced in the face of one's own mental health mishaps. Clarke wanted to tell him it was okay, that he didn’t have to feel bad. She also knew it would be pointless. He wouldn’t believe it.

She replaced his food with a freshly-made sandwich, refilled his glass, left new pills on the edge of the plate. She spoke to him softly, telling him about her day, as if there was nothing more normal than this whole mess of a scene. He didn’t respond, she pretended that was normal too.

He only looked at her when she gently squeezed his shoulder to bid him a good rest. His eyes flicked back to the ceiling almost instantly.

She left quietly once more.

o0o0o

The next day, the food had been picked at. His back was turned to her the entire time she was there. Still, she told him about Madi’s latest academic exploits as she went about refilling everything.

The following day, he came to the door when she knocked. He only cracked it open, just enough for her to see he clearly hadn’t showered still. He didn’t meet her eyes as he soberly recited the words “I’m fine. You can go.”

He went to close the door almost immediately, and she stopped him. “Bellamy.”

His eyes were riveted on the ground, but still he halted and waited.

“Bellamy. I know I can’t tell you not to feel ashamed, because that’s not how this works. But please know I’m not here out of pity. Okay? I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you. Because I want to.”

He looked like he wanted to protest but decided against it.

He grunted and closed the door.

o0o0o

Clarke visited every day for a week. Every day, he cracked the door open to let her know he was fine, and left it at that.

On day eight, Clarke turned up with a Tupperware of cookies Madi had made for him. That seemed to elicit some reaction beyond the usual annoyed grunt. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Wait,” he said, before closing the door.

A few seconds later, the deck door opened and Bellamy emerged outside, with a hat and a coat carelessly strewn across his frame. He brushed the snow off his usual chair, and beckoned for Clarke to join him.

“How’s the kid?” was the first question he asked, once they were both seated.

He looked like he had showered in the recent past. To the untrained eye, he looked normal again. 'Normal' was such an inadequate, pointless word.

“She’s good,” she answered in earnest. Though she couldn’t be truthful without adding, “She’s been worrying.”

Bellamy bit the inside of his lip as he somberly nodded.

“I’m sorry she had to see that.”

“Bellamy, you really shouldn’t fret about that. She’s fine. She cares about you. She just didn’t understand it.”

What Clarke didn’t say, was that Madi had spent that first night meticulously doing her research on Wikipedia. She’d keenly informed Clarke over dinner that it was called ‘compulsive hoarding,’ or ‘hoarding disorder,’ and that it was closely connected with OCD, depression, anxiety and ADHD. If she’d been shaken at first, now most of her phone time was spent reading about the condition, how to treat it, and how to help people who suffered from it.

Clarke felt proud to call Madi her daughter in times like these, even though she had issues with her choice of reference sources. She just wasn’t sure Bellamy would take well to knowing how much Madi was learning about his disorder. Just the fact that they knew of it at all seemed disturbing enough as it was.

He still hadn’t looked Clarke in the eye once since sitting out on the deck.

Bellamy sighed. “It’s not that big of a deal, really. I have it under control.” Clarke understood that he meant the depressive episode. The hoarding, he pointedly avoided mentioning. “I get nightmares, since I was deployed. It’s usually fine, but some nights, it’s just… worse. I wake up drained and weak, and I can’t get out of bed. Then I forget my meds, and it just kind of spirals from there. It’s fine, though. It just takes a few days to get back into the beat of things.”

Clarke leaned forward to respond. “You don’t have to explain,” she assured him gently. “Plus, you should have realized by now that we’re not exactly your run-of-the-mill, judgmental suburban nuclear family.”

A smile vaguely tugged at Bellamy’s lips, but he refused to let it bloom. “Still. I’m sorry I scared Madi.”

Clarke huffed and rolled her eyes dramatically enough for him to see it, even from the corner of his eyes. “Bellamy, that kid is in utter admiration of you. Not that I understand nor support it, but she worships the ground you walk on. Believe me, she’ll bounce back.”

He only seemed partially convinced, but he also looked like he had said his piece and was ready for this conversation to be over.

With a smile he wouldn’t see for lack of eye contact, Clarke stood up and made to leave.

But not before adding, “And Bellamy? If it ever gets bad again, you call me. It’ll never be a bad time. I want you to know that.”

He did not respond, but she thought she saw a faint nodding movement.

She took it and left.

o0o0o

Madi resumed her visits – which were genuinely turning into an apprenticeship at this point. Madi never asked about the house, or what had happened. Bellamy didn’t try to broach the topic either.

Without talking about it, they eased back into their routine.

Five days before Christmas, Bellamy became privy to the knowledge that the Griffin household had not yet acquired a Christmas tree. Although Madi brushed it off as unimportant, Bellamy was not blind enough to miss the hint of disappointment in her voice.

The next day, he was dragging Clarke and Madi on a tree shopping excursion. There was absolutely nothing Clarke could say to stop it. She didn’t want to anyway.

She understood that this was Bellamy’s deflecting way of apologizing. Or saying thank you. Clarke couldn’t quite pretend she fully understood the man by now.

She just knew that he was becoming a weird, unexpected staple in their lives. And that was both endearing and frightening to watch unfold.

o0o0o

On Christmas Eve, Madi and Clarke were invited to a Holiday dinner hosted by Charlotte’s parents. Despite being the youngest adult there and having to navigate cautiously tentative questions about her age all night, it was all worth it for Clarke, for the chance of seeing Madi having fun.

On Christmas morning, it was just the two of them. They had their traditions, which involved pyjamas, grilled cheeses, and a scandalous amount of cookie dough. And presents, of course, which this year had been laid out under a tree carefully selected by Madi and Bellamy.

At 10:30 AM, just as Clarke was whipping out the old cheddar and Havarti cheeses to finally christen this house with its very first batch of Christmas grilled cheeses, Octavia turned up on their doorstep, her boyfriend Lincoln in tow.

“We went over to Lincoln’s family farm for Thanksgiving and got way too much maple syrup leftover. Want some?”

Shaved head, tribal tattoos, _and_ Canadian. Clearly, that poor guy would have to work triply hard to earn Bellamy’s respect.

Clarke invited them in for a grilled cheese. Octavia and Lincoln were going to celebrate Christmas with Bell over at Miller’s house, but Octavia claimed they had some time before leaving. They came in.

Madi was all over Lincoln in no time, asking what each of his tattoos meant. Clarke shook her head in exasperation, coming to the regretful understanding that Madi would drive her crazy when she started dating.

Lincoln was patient, and very seriously told her stories of crazy, far-fetched adventures Clarke doubted were true. Nevertheless, he was keeping Madi and A.L.I.E. occupied in the living room without any electronics involved, so she was grateful.

Octavia stayed with her in the kitchen. Clarke manned the stove while Octavia leaned against the counter, eyeing her attentively, almost analytically. When she finally spoke up, Clarke had already sensed it coming.

“So, I heard you saw the house.”

Clarke looked up from the pan, to glance at the young woman standing merely a few paces away, arms crossed. Clarke smiled commiseratingly, before returning her attention to the span.

Octavia continued. “He was pretty worked up about it, you know. He tries real hard to keep up appearances.”

“I take it you’ve seen it too, then?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been years. Ever since he got back from the war, but if I’m real with you, it started before, when our mom died and he got the house. It was never a really preppy house, but not a single thing has come out of it since that moment. I guess it’s an anxiety thing. I don’t know, though, I’m not a shrink.”

Clarke, who had turned her attention back to the young woman, nodded in understanding. When she showed no signs of wanting to place in a word, Octavia carried on.

“I tried to help, once. I showed up with a broom, a large dustpan, and a whole box of trash bags. He let me. He went to hide in his room, and he let me work. He couldn’t watch it, every item would make him spiral into the ‘what ifs’ of getting rid of it. In one day, I cleared the kitchen table and the counter space. In one weekend, I cleared a decent passage from the entrance to the master bedroom. Don’t get me wrong, it was still a fucking mess, but in comparison to how it was, it felt like you could finally breathe in there, you know? Even Bellamy looked happy. He didn’t even want to know what I’d thrown out, he was just glad it was better. He said he thought he could keep it going, now that the first steps had been taken. I loaded the trash bags in my pickup truck and took them to the dump. We both thought the worst was behind him.

“Two weeks later, the house looked exactly like it had before I started. It’s crazy: nothing new came in, but the empty space just… healed. It disappeared, got absorbed by stuff. I can’t explain it. Bellamy can’t explain it either.

“He was so ashamed. He couldn’t even look me in the eye. He hasn’t let anyone into the house since. Like, clearly he wasn’t having parties in there before, but it’s off-limits to me as well, now. And he hasn’t tried cleaning since either. he doesn't think it's possible anymore, so he's given up. He’s just…” Octavia had to pause and think about her choice of words. “He thinks he’s become useless. Impotent. His words, not mine. And for a man who’s been in the military, who has kept his family together through really shitty times, and who used to have everything under control, it’s humiliating. You know?”

Clarke nodded again. She had turned the heat off on the stove halfway through Octavia’s story, to avoid burning the currently half-cooked grilled cheese.

Octavia let silence reign over the room for a while, before audibly breathing in. “Anyway. That’s Bellamy for ya.”

Clarke smiled meekly. “Grilled cheese?”

“Hell yeah. I’m starving. Don’t tell Lincoln, though. He made me pancakes this morning and I said they were delicious, but _oh my god_ that shit was revolting.”


	6. Drugs and Face Tattoos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of drug abuse.

New Year’s Eve rolled in faster than anticipated. It was Clarke and Madi's second holiday season without Lexa, and it felt just as surreal to think about.

Clarke and Madi watched sappy romcoms on Netflix all night, switching to one of the free channels in time for the countdown. Madi was allowed one sip of Clarke’s glass of wine, and they both went to bed at half-past midnight.

Clarke slipped into blissful sleep right away, only to be awoken by the doorbell around one in the morning. Hair ruffled and eyelashes glued together, she clumsily wrapped a robe around her nightgown, before shuffling towards the front door.

The bell rang a second time before she could reach it.

“Yes, coming!” she croaked, unable to muffle her irritation. _Who the hell rings people’s doorbells in the middle of the night?_

At the same time, she felt inexplicably anxious. Whoever rung people’s doorbells in the middle of the night was unlikely to carry good news. She fought against the dreadful scenarios threatening to overwhelm her reeling mind.

A.L.I.E. growled in the corner of the living room where her bed lay. Clarke shushed her firmly as she reached for the doorknob. She heard shuffling in Madi’s bedroom, indicating the girl was awake and most likely spying on whatever conversation was about to occur. She’d deal with that later.

She opened the door to reveal a tall, lanky man. Late twenties or early thirties. Thin, elongated eyes. Prominently straight nose. An expression of weary boredom etched across his features. She recognized him as one of the men who occasionally gravitated around Bellamy’s firepit. She felt pretty certain it wasn’t Miller – she’d seen the latter more often, she remembered what he looked like - bronzed skin, short military hair, square stature.

This had to be the one they called Murphy.

Clarke then noticed another presence outside. A woman was waiting a little further back, down the porch steps. She had effortlessly wavy brown hair, crowned with a bandana. Under it glowered, inky black squiggly lines gracefully wrapped around her left eye. An actual face tattoo. It was eerily beautiful, except for the fact that it was, well, a _face tattoo._ Gosh, she hoped for that girl’s sake that it was one of those cheap temporary ones.

“Can I help you?” Clarke asked guardedly, giving the man a chance to explain himself before she latched at him for turning up on her doorstep at ungodly hours.

“Hey.” He responded lazily, too calm for the circumstances. “You Clarke?”

“Yes.” She replied dryly. “What’s it about?”

Murphy eyed her unhurriedly. He looked bored, and yet weirdly judgmental at the same time. Clarke was all out of patience at this point.

That’s when he sighed wearily, deeming it appropriate to finally state his business. “Bellamy said we should get you.”

Clarke frowned, forgetting all about her irritation of seconds ago. “What?”

“Bellamy. He’s drunk, practically passed out on his porch. Won’t let us help. He said to get you.”

Too many thoughts ran through Clarke’s head at this point. Bellamy wasn’t hurt – she was relieved. He got drunk and expected her to come to his rescue – she was not impressed.

“Okay. And you’re telling me, there’s nothing _you_ can do to help him?”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “I’ve been trying for the past twenty minutes. I’m tired and need my beauty sleep. I have passed along his message, now if you’ll excuse me…”

And with an actual curtsy, he was on his way.

Clarke watched him leave with faint dubiety, as if doubting the reliability of her senses or the reality of the scene she’d just witnessed.

Unwilling to gamble on Bellamy’s wellbeing, she sighed and resigned herself to get dressed. Before she made her way back to her room, she turned to face Madi’s closed door.

“Go to bed, Madi. I’ll be back.”

The ruffling of feet against carpet told her she’d been heard.

o0o0o

“Well, there’s a sight.”

Bellamy was sprawled in the snow covering his porch. He was unmoving, but his slow blinking told Clarke he was still conscious. The compressed snow surrounding his frame indicated that he had floundered around for a while before finally capitulating.

“You sound sarcastic,” he responded monotonously.

“Well, you choose: sarcastic or angry?”

He pondered the question for a beat. “Sarcastic’s fine.”

“Well, there you go. Now, may I inquire as to why I have to be here, out in the cold, in the middle of the night, watching you nesting in this particular patch of snow?”

Once again, he took longer than strictly necessary to think up an answer. “Emori wanted Murphy to help me inside. I panicked.”

“Emori. Is that Murphy’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“She looks nice.”

“I mean, she has a face tattoo.”

Clarke couldn’t help the chuckle which escaped her throat. Who was judging books by their cover now?

(Still Bellamy. It was still him.)

She eyed him dubiously before bringing forward her next question. “So what do you expect me to do here, exactly? Carry you to bed?”

Bellamy sighed. “No.” Then he thought about it. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just wanted them to leave.”

“Smart move. Clearly, you’re in a much better position now.”

He squirmed in the snow, seemingly attempting to prove something that wasn’t quite as evident to Clarke as it was to him. By all accounts, he failed whatever it was he was trying.

He finally sighed in defeat. “Now I’m thinking angry-you might have been the better choice.”

“Oh, believe me, you don’t. Now let’s get you inside. My bed is weeping my absence.”

She anchored her feet onto the porch and held out both arms towards him. He wrapped his large hands around hers and let himself get pulled upward. Thankfully, once Bellamy was on his feet, he managed to navigate his own feet mostly on his own. Clarke handled the keys to unlock the door, and grossly guided him towards his bedroom. He dropped heavily onto the bed and crawled to the pillows. Clarke observed the scene with a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“Tell me you’ve at least ingested _some_ water in the last few hours.”

He frowned as he visibly tried hard to recollect. Taking it as the answer she needed, she shook her head and disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned with a glass of water, he was on his back, staring pensively at the ceiling.

It didn’t feel right to leave at that moment. She couldn’t tell what was going through his mind, and she wasn’t sure he would even want to share, but maybe he could at least use the company for a little while.

At first, she hesitated. Then, she thought, _what the hell._ They were past the point of worrying abound these kinds of boundaries. She pulled the sheets straighter on the side Bellamy wasn’t currently occupying and sat next to him. He watched her with no sign of surprise on his tired features.

“I have to say,” Clarke admitted once seated, “when Murphy said you were passed out on your porch, I expected much worse. You’re looking… reasonably lucid. I guess.”

Bellamy huffed softly. “Lying in the snow has a way of getting you sober. And of reminding you of how much of a loser you really are.”

“Oh, I am sorry, was that a pity party I got invited to? Gee, if I’d known, I’d have brought my violin.”

Bellamy scoffed. And then sighed. Now acclimated to the obscurity of the room, Clarke could tell he was making eye contact for the first time in a very long while.

“You don’t talk to me like other people do,” he noted, matter-of-factly.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “How do other people talk to you?”

“I don’t know. Like they feel sorry for me? Like I’m a loser?”

“Well, there’s a theme.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“But _is it_ , though? Or is that you projecting onto others how you feel about yourself?”

A few quiet beats passed, before Bellamy responded, “You sound like a shrink.”

Deadpan, she replied, “oh nooo. Equating me to a health professional? How dare you.”

Bellamy chuckled so faintly, Clarke wasn’t quite sure she heard it right. Weirdly enough, the man was acting more open and transparent all of a sudden. A shame it was, that he needed alcohol to be real like this, even though he still clearly used humour to deflect the attention he was given.

“So,” he murmured into the darkness, and she assumed he was about to kick her out. “Isn’t this the moment where you share another tidbit of your tragic backstory so I don’t feel like a complete loser?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, knowing full well he wouldn’t see it. “I don’t know. At this rate, I’ll run out of stories before you run out of shenanigans like this.”

“I say we cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Clarke smiled, and then it slowly melted away. She sighed. Her tone was much more serious when she spoke again. “You’re not a loser, though.”

“I could have fooled me.”

“I mean it. I have seen people like you before. Strong, brave, protective of the ones they love. Willing to sacrifice anything for the well-being of those few.”

“I’m not strong, though.”

“Shush. You went to war. Stop fishing for compliments.”

“I’m not – ”

“And if you want a bedtime story, then I'll give you one. There's my mom’s. Wanna hear that one? It’s fun.” Then she lowered her voice in a dramatic re-enactment of whispering children. “ _Spoiler alert:_ that's a lie. It’s not that fun.”

Now Bellamy was listening. Through the thick obscurity barely illuminated by distant moonlight – the windows were mostly obstructed anyway – Clarke could see him looking at her, waiting.

She cleared her throat and started her tale.

“Abigail Griffin was a renowned doctor, compassionate donor and volunteer for countless charities, and an exemplary breadwinner for her family, even after her husband passed away. Prostate cancer. An ugly year that was. It was just my mom and me after that, but while I spent weeks wondering what was even the point of carrying on without him, she never stopped working. She carried our world on her shoulders, got me back on my feet, made me go back to school. She was the strongest woman you’d ever met. Nothing could shake her, it seemed. I was even mad at her for a while. I thought it meant she didn’t care. I was wrong, obviously, but I figured that out too late.

“When I left for college, something snapped. She had spent the last few years busting her ass to keep our family together and cared for. When she was left with an empty nest, it was like suddenly she didn’t have anything to bust her ass over anymore. What should have been a long-awaiting break felt more like a haunting void. She had always had a reason to get back on her feet whenever she fell down. Not anymore. For the first time in years, she stayed down. And eventually, she found a way to fill that void. With pain meds. Loads of them. Until she didn’t have to feel anything anymore.

“She knew she had a problem. Of course, she knew it. But it takes more than being aware of it. Overcoming addiction takes hard work. You need to give a shit about yourself to even go through so much grueling effort for your own person.

“I tried to help. Many times. I’d hide her drugs, throw them in the toilet, sign her up for detox. It never worked. Eventually, I gave up. I didn’t see her for the longest time. I couldn’t bring myself to watch her destroy herself. I felt like there was nothing I could do. So, I stopped trying. And I dreaded the day I’d get a call telling me she was dead.

“It didn’t come, thankfully. But no thanks to me. It was her friend Marcus who actually saved her. Unlike me, he didn’t try to fix her. She wasn’t his project. He was just… there for her when she needed him. He didn’t judge. He didn’t condemn. He held out a helping hand and made her believe she could do it. And most importantly, he made it clear that he’d still be there when she failed. Because she _would_ fail along the way, and that was okay. He managed to convince her that she was worth the effort.

“My mom’s been sober for two years now. And I’m so relieved. I’m so happy she cared enough to heal herself. But also, and I guess that makes me selfish, but I wish I’d known how to really be there for her. Before. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had to suffer for so long. You know?”

Bellamy exhaled slowly and painfully. They shared a companionable silence, Bellamy lying down, Clarke sitting by his side, both surrounded by the somber shadows of his cramped bedroom. Shadows that protected and suffocated all at once.

Clarke listened to Bellamy's even breathing. When she left, it was two-thirty in the morning, and Bellamy was fast asleep.

o0o0o

Clarke was back the next morning, to bring him water and aspirin, while he grumbled that he was _not_ hungover.

She stayed a while, busying herself with pointless tasks. When she saw that he was up and seemingly functional, she made to leave.

“Clarke?” He called meekly, halting her movement towards the door.

His voice had lost its snarky edge and even felt devoid of shame, which he always harboured in moments like this.

Clarke smiled as she awaited his next words. She saw his Adam’s apple bob a few times before he muttered a weak “Thank you.” It would have felt forced and insincere, had it not been for his inky black eyes staring straight into hers as he said it. She did her best not to appear destabilized.

“Of course. Don’t worry about it.” She cleared her throat. “See you later, Bellamy.”

She left with an indescribable sensation of her chest folding in on itself.

o0o0o

Sometimes, Madi brought Charlotte over to Bellamy’s workshop. When she did, Bellamy tended to revert back to his old guarded and tense self, the one Madi remembered from the early days. She didn’t bring Charlotte over too often because of it.

Bellamy had grown fond of A.L.I.E., though, which he would never admit but was still undeniably true.

More than once, Clarke looked out their kitchen window and witnessed their furry devil escape to the neighbouring yard, where Bellamy was outside working. More than once, she saw the man put on an irate front, which quickly melted away when he realized there was no one around to see it. He would pet her surreptitiously, sometimes even giving her treats. Clarke wondered if that meant the man actually bought dog treats for that express purpose. It felt as if she were seeing a whole new him.

Once or twice, Bellamy caught Clarke watching, and both of them were too embarrassed to discuss it later. They pretended it didn’t happen.

And A.L.I.E. gradually became a fixture of Madi’s visits too.

o0o0o

Bellamy saw Clarke write out A.L.I.E.’s name on a pouch of dog food, on a morning he came over to repair their plumbing again.

“A.L.I.E. is an acronym?” he asked, frowning in curious surprise.

“Yeah. Madi came up with the name.”

“What does it stand for?”

Clarke huffed in amused aggravation. “Don’t ask me. It’s something real complicated. We got her when Madi was in her computer whiz phase. She read everything she could about Artificial Intelligence. I can never remember the full thing.”

Bellamy nodded like he was impressed.

Maybe he was.

o0o0o

“I don’t _want_ to live like this, you know.”

Clarke looked up from the fuming mug of tea she had just placed in front of him, on the kitchen island where he sat. This time, he had come over to check on the boiler, which had been making strange noises all day. Once he was done, she had offered tea, a natural ‘thank you’ of sorts. He had accepted.

And then this statement came out of the blue. Like he’d been harbouring the words for weeks, finally breaking under the pressure, and blurting them out.

She reined in her surprise quickly and smiled solicitously. She knew what he meant.

“I know.”

Still, he insisted, as if he couldn’t hear her words. “It’s not like I’m too lazy, or can’t be bothered. Or don’t care.”

Clarke added a nod to her smile this time. “I know.”

“It’s just… I can’t do it. It sounds simple. Take thing, put in trash, bring to the curb. But… I can’t. I just…”

This time, Clarke extended a hand, letting it rest softly over his. She looked him in the eye as she repeated, “I know.”

He heard her. And nodded. He didn’t smile, but there was an aura of gratitude surrounding his frame for a second there.

When she saw that he kept silent, she added, “you know, there’s no shame in needing help.”

He scoffed, pulling his hand away as he muttered, “Tried that once.”

“Well, sometimes you need help from someone who’s not close enough to want to do the work for you. Someone who’s patient enough to let you fail and learn along the way.”

He eyed her dubiously as he responded. “Sounds exhausting.”

She smiled again. “Yeah, it most likely would be.”

He huffed only so slightly. And then hesitated, before aiming to clarify what she meant by her veiled offer. “And by that kind of someone, you mean… you?”

Clarke wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I actually have a hidden talent. Not many people know about it.” She leaned in closer, as if to share a shameful secret. “I am great at kicking butts _._ ”

Bellamy snorted.

“It’s not that hidden, Clarke. It’s really not.”

That was as much acquiescence as Clarke needed at that point.


	7. Keep, Chuck, Donate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer has just arrived where I live. Four days ago, it was 4 degrees (Celsius) out. Today, I count 43 mosquito bites on my right ankle alone. Oh, summer. How you're catching up on lost time
> 
> This chapter is sponsored by baking soda, now spread all over my skin.
> 
> ... Enjoy!

A new routine was established.

Whenever Madi was otherwise occupied, whether at Charlotte’s or on a walk with A.L.I.E., Clarke came over to Bellamy’s house. They would get settled – Bellamy would sit down, typically on the edge of his bed or in his one armchair, for lack of other seating options. Clarke would pick one item off a pile, and put it through his assessment.

Some items were easy to pass judgment on.

“How about this… uh…” Clarke turned it over in her hand, eyeing it in puzzlement.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Wrench. It’s a wrench.”

“Right, this wrench. What do we do with it? Keep it, chuck it, donate it?”

“I need it for my work.”

“Okay, that’s fair. _Keep_ it is. Now, where does it live? Because if the answer is next to your bed, I may have to reconsider my whole perception of you.”

“My workshop.”

“Good! Let’s go put it there now, before it gets swallowed into the black hole again.”

Some items were easy. Others, however, were much less so.

“Alright,” Clarke exhaled, holding up her next find. “This box of women’s clothing. Which I will be gracious enough not to ask where it came from. Keep it, chuck it, donate?”

Clarke knew an item would prove tough whenever Bellamy’s eyes suddenly glazed over with an indescribable wall of emotion – be it regret, anger or fondness. Unfortunately, most items elicited such a reaction.

“Those were Octavia’s,” he admitted, sounding dangerously moved. “When she was a teenager.”

“Okay. So, we give them to Octavia?”

“She doesn’t want them. They don’t fit anymore.”

“Okay, so donate?”

Bellamy lifted a few shirts, vaguely browsing through the box’s contents. “They’re old and faded. I don’t think the thrift store would take them.”

“Okay. Chuck it, then?”

Bellamy frowned and took a painstakingly long time to reply. “They’re still good shirts, though.”

“Cool. So, donate?”

Bellamy’s frown deepened. “I don’t know.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. Clarke could almost see the wheels turning in that head. When he opened his eyes again, he looked at her with a deferential plea. “What do you think?”

Clarke shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not my stuff. You have to decide.”

Bellamy sighed again and his shoulders slumped. “Donate?”

Clarke tilted her head in a patient query. “Are you asking? Or saying?”

Again, Bellamy hesitated. “Saying?”

“Okay! So, we donate, then?”

He hesitated once more. “Or maybe we should just throw it away?”

Clarke nodded, noncommittal. “We could.”

Clarke could see him deflate a little more by the second. When he spoke again, it was to mutter sadly, “Octavia would wear these all the time.”

“So, keep?”

“I mean, she doesn’t wear them anymore. I guess it doesn’t make sense.”

Clarke shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Does it not?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

“You think I should throw it out, no?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Actually, I am. I can’t decide for you. This is part of the process.”

Sometimes, they would set the item aside, to revisit it later. Sometimes, the interaction would escalate into Bellamy near-shouting that he didn’t know and _would she just decide_ _so they could move on_? He’d snap at her, to get her to stop tormenting him and leave him alone. She gave him space when he needed it, but she never left the house on a bad note like this. She always tried to wrap up on a successful venture, and she strategically kept easier items for the beginning and the end of their sessions.

Many times, Bellamy grew tired. Quickly, inexplicably. This constant internal debate drained him of all energy and brainpower at dizzying speed. When his shoulders started closing in on his frame, when his head hung low and his voice took on a painfully complaintive note, Clarke called for a break. They took many breaks. And when Bellamy looked somewhat amenable again – sometimes apologizing, sometimes merely tolerant – they started again.

It was a lot of work. It would take _years,_ and Bellamy doubted he’d ever see the end of it in his lifetime. But once in a while, he’d see it – a corner that looked visibly less crowded than before, and he’d feel a burst of hope ooze in his chest. The moment would never last long, but it was something to hold on to.

Maybe he could do this.

o0o0o

In mid-February, Bellamy spent two days painting the living room walls over at Clarke and Madi’s house. By then, the latter two had stopped noticing the old scattered spots of drywall over the old-fashioned beige walls, but they sure weren’t going to complain about a home makeover, no matter how small the scale.

The second day, Bellamy showed up with large pools of sweat around his neck and back. He had just gone on a run and wanted to finish the paint job before showering. Because of course, Bellamy Blake would be the kind of man to go for runs in the dead of winter.

When he finally gathered his equipment and made to leave, Clarke taciturnly handed him an envelope. It was large, red, with interwoven heart shapes artistically drawn all over it.

“Madi made Valentine’s Day cards with her friend Charlotte at school,” Clarke explained. “She made you one, but then decided it would look stupid if she actually gave it to you.” She paused. “Don’t tell her I’ve done it for her.”

Dumbfounded, Bellamy took the envelope and opened it, carefully pulling out the card slipped inside.

It was made with red cardboard paper folded in half. _Happy Valentine’s Day!_ read the cover, surrounded by hearts drawn in the same skillful design from the envelope. Inside, Madi’s elegant handwriting spelled _Happy Valentine’s Day to a great friend. Thank you for everything._

When Bellamy looked back up, he coughed awkwardly and stuffed the card into his back pocket.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

He pretended not to be moved.

Clarke was graceful enough to pretend she didn’t know better.

o0o0o

In March, the weather finally picked back up and grew warmer. Albeit chilly, it became possible again to sit out on one’s deck if properly clothed.

Bellamy handed Clarke a beer, before dropping his weight into his usual pliable chair, just a couple of feet away from where Clarke sat.

“Already March,” she noted in disbelief. She was making it a point not to address the exhausting two hours of triage they had just completed. She sensed Bellamy needed to clear his mind of anything mess-related. “I can’t believe Madi’s turning 13 in two months.”

Bellamy took a gulp of his beer. “When’s her birthday?”

“May 20th.”

“Hm.” Another swig of beer. “She’ll be bringing boys home soon.”

“How _dare_ you.”

Bellamy chuckled while raising both hands in defense. “Just preparing you for what’s coming.”

“She’s a child!”

“And how old were _you_ when you started seeing boys? Or, I mean, girls.”

Clarke went silent, as a pout slowly pulled at her features. “I guess I had my first crush at 13, but I didn’t have a relationship until I was 17.”

“Well. Let’s hope she’s a late bloomer like you.”

Clarke scoffed. “I was _not_ a late bloomer!”

“Oh, okay.” His mocking eyebrow raise said he agreed to disagree.

Irritated, Clarke deflected. “How old were _you_ when you had your first girlfriend anyway?”

Bellamy leaned back into his chair, seemingly pensive. “I am not sure what you’d qualify as a girlfriend. But 14, I guess.”

“Oh my god.” Clarke was doing the math in her head. That was not a lot of time before Madi hit that age.

She was tempted to wallow into the misery of watching her child grow up. Instead, she shook herself out of it, seizing the first out she could think of.

“So, who was that first girlfriend of yours, then?” she asked, now giving off more curiosity vibes than despairing ones, all of a sudden.

Bellamy looked both surprised and detached from the question. He neither rolled his eyes at her nor brushed off the query as inappropriate or silly. He was doing less of those things with her lately. Or at least, not in the unhumorous, fully guarded way he did in the early days of their acquaintanceship. He was less "grumpy landlord" and more "Bellamy," nowadays.

He took a swig of his beer and answered plainly. “Her name was Gina Martin. She was 15.”

“Oh, an older woman. Kinky.”

Bellamy snorted. “She was… kind, generous. She volunteered at the local nursing home. She was a vegetarian. She wanted to save the seals from being hunted in the Arctic.”

“Never mind that that’s stripping First Nations of their livelihood.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. Maybe he _did_ still do that after all. “We were teenagers. Our ideals weren’t exactly refined yet.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Clarke sipped on her beer before continuing. “So, what _was_ Bellamy Blake like in high school?”

Bellamy looked at her pointedly, as if to ask, _you sure you want to go there?_

She smiled. As if to say, _yes._

Bellamy ran his hand through his raven, wavy locks, which were slowly getting a little too long for comfort.

“Mostly an idiot, really.”

“Ah, aren’t we all, in high school?”

“Maybe.”

There was a long, thoughtful pause before Bellamy returned the question.

“And you? Who was that first girlfriend?”

“Hm.” Clarke took on an exaggeratedly serious air. “First girlfriend was Niylah. I was twenty. It was very short-lived, never quite serious, although we stayed good friends. First boyfriend, however, was Finn Collins. He was the numero uno, at seventeen years old. He had the silkiest hair I’d ever seen. Had he been seventeen today, he sure would have rocked that man-bun trend like no tomorrow. We were actually together for two years.”

“What happened?”

“He died.”

Any sign of humour slowly melted, trickling down Bellamy’s face. It was then swiftly replaced with a sharp expression of pure horror.

Clarke’s laugh erupted in crystalline chuckles. “I’m messing with you, Bellamy. He just had big dreams that didn’t involve me. He moved abroad, I didn’t follow. Our paths split.”

Bellamy did not laugh. Clarke’s smile melted away in turn, before reappearing with clear notes of apology. “Sorry. Not funny,” she admitted. “I don’t know, I guess, since Lexa died, I’ve been getting so many pity looks from people who meet me, I’m just sick of it. I turn to sarcasm a little too easily. I wish they’d realize I’m not made of fucking porcelain.”

Bellamy nodded thoughtfully and heavily.

“Yeah, I get that.”

At those words, Clarke smiled more authentically. Because she sensed, somehow, that he really did get it.

They remained in companionable silence for the remainder of the afternoon, enjoying the early spring feel of the sunrays. Before they knew it, summer would be upon them.

And they would launch into a whole new year in this new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you're not surprised, there will be a significant time jump in the next chapter.


	8. Baileys-Spiked Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started working again, which is great news for my bank account and sanity, but also means I am progressing at a slower pace on this story. Apologies for the delays.
> 
> Worry not, I already have 13 chapters out of 21 completed. Yes, that total chapter count keeps going up. Some chapters just get out of control, you know. The rest is coming along nicely. I just have less time to dedicate to writing and editing each day.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this new chapter and two-year time jump.

**Two Years Later.**

The month of May appeared as a beacon of warmth and long-awaited summer light, after a harsh winter they had all feared would never end.

Sunrays shimmered across the glistening surface of the water. Clarke took a sip of her lukewarm coffee—with a dash of Bailey’s sneaked in there, courtesy of Bellamy—and she thought this day truly was perfect in every way. She smiled fondly as she watched Madi clumsily but determinedly following Octavia and Lincoln’s tai chi session on the wooden quay. A.L.I.E. splashed around in the water nearby, adding to the absurd perfection of the scene.

Octavia had definitely experienced a sudden drastic bump in Madi’s respect the day it had come to light she was a martial art pundit. It didn’t quite beat the admiration the teenage girl devoted to Bellamy, but it was close.

This escapade had been Bellamy’s idea. For Madi’s 15th birthday. Lincoln’s aunt Indra owned a little cottage by the lake, which she let her nephew use on occasion. Octavia suggested a weekend escapade once the weather improved, and Bellamy found the timing too perfect. Neither Octavia nor Lincoln minded the addition of Bellamy’s two neighbours to the trip. By now, these two were fixtures of the 34-year-old man’s ecosystem, whom anyone close to him had come to expect and appreciate.

Case in point, Madi had received more presents that year than ever before. There had been the usual cheque from grandma Abby and uncle Marcus, as per normal. Bellamy had given her a brand new toolbox—so she’d stop manhandling his own, _damnit_. Miller had bought her a pair of rubber boots, as a follow-up to an earlier promise to bring her and Clarke on the boys’ next fishing trip. Emori had gotten her a Pusheen backpack, hitting the jackpot with Madi’s unavowed girly spot. Octavia’s gift, however, may have been the overall favourite—besides Bellamy’s, that was. It consisted of a poster of literary insults, which now adorned the wall above Madi’s bed, for ease of reference.

There had also been a more subtle, behind-the-scenes present, from Madi’s friend Jordan Green. A necklace made of a shiny cluster of diamond-like stones—not real, of course, but still pretty, delicate, thoughtful.

Clarke did not like that. She did not like that one bit. Sure, Jordan looked like a good kid. Clarke worked with his mom, Harper, at the clinic. His dad, Monty, had also helped her countless times with her failing technology. They were good people. She respected them greatly.

But if that Jordan kid wanted to get on Clarke’s good side, he’d have to do a lot more than give her daughter presents behind Clarke’s back.

She was pulled back from her thoughts at the sight of a Bailey’s bottle nozzle sneaking its way towards her coffee mug.

“That’ll be more alcohol than coffee at this point,” she protested feebly.

Bellamy hummed mindlessly. “You say it like that’s a bad thing.”

She did not see the point in opposing him any further. They were on vacation, after all. “Just don’t let me get in the water after this, okay?”

Bellamy resettled the bottle in the shadowy sand under his pliable chair, before meeting her eye again. He smiled faintly, and the sun radiated across his accentuated freckles.

“Don’t worry. I got you.”

o0o0o

Sunday came too quickly. Clarke would have campaigned for an additional day, had it not been for work and responsibilities awaiting her back home.

They packed the cars quickly and efficiently under Bellamy’s strict regiment. Octavia and Lincoln rolled their eyes at Bellamy’s admonishing for safe driving, before getting into their car and getting on the gravelly road. Meanwhile, Madi settled into the backseat of Bellamy’s car, waiting for the remaining two adults to take their designated places at the front.

Clarke stood outside just a little longer, breathing in the moment before it was over. She stole one last glance at the lake, already sighing with rapt nostalgia. Bellamy came to stand by her side, hands resolutely stuffed into his pockets as he took in the same view.

“We can come back later this summer, if you like.”

Clarke turned to look at him, and smiled. “That’d be lovely.”

Bellamy smiled back, with a hint of clumsy hesitation in the offering. He definitely smiled more than he used to these days. Each time, it looked as if he was still figuring out how to look natural doing it. Clarke thought it was endearing.

She took a step towards Bellamy and delicately rested a hand on his cheek. Her fingers were warm and soft. The smile slowly melted off his lips as she leaned in closer.

He could feel her breath on his skin before her lips brushed against his other cheek with lingering airiness. Time slowed as she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, cozily nesting her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered, with all the weight of her genuine gratitude.

Hesitantly, Bellamy’s arms slid around her shoulders, his hands finding their place against her back. “Of course.”

And then, the moment was over. She stepped back and smiled one last time, before making her way towards the car.

Bellamy didn’t follow instantly. He watched her walk away, in a sort of hazy daze while his heart inexplicably swelled in his ribcage and his guts twisted obnoxiously in his abdomen.

He shook his head and walked over to the car.

o0o0o

Back home, Bellamy helped the girls bring their stuff inside. While he helped Madi store items on the higher-up shelf of their entrance closet, Clarke stayed back to check the mail. At first glance, it looked like the usual boring crop of post: one bill, a stack of promotional flyers. And one shiny, golden envelope.

“Aw, how sweet!” she exclaimed, opening it to reveal the invitation inside.

Bellamy re-emerged from the house and threw her a curious, expectant glance.

“Miller and Jackson’s wedding,” she explained, holding up the beautifully designed cardboard invitation.

Bellamy acknowledged it with a nod, but disappeared inside once more when Madi’s sudden cry for help announced the need for a rescue mission. Bellamy must have received his own invitation anyway, which he would refer to later.

“A Fall wedding,” Clarke muttered to herself, smiling fondly as she ran the tips of her fingers over the indented letters on the rigid paper. “That’s cute.”

She hadn’t attended a wedding in forever. She wouldn’t have wanted to until recently anyway. Nearly four years following Lexa’s passing, the timing was right, in a way. Clarke felt ready to celebrate someone else’s happiness and love. She was past believing in soulmates and love at first sight, but that did not mean she couldn’t feel joy for those who did find it.

Maybe that was meant to be her journey now. Being there for her family, helping others, loving them. She’d had her great love. Now, she had Madi, her career, her new friends, and Bellamy. That was enough. She supposed it had to be.

When she heard both Madi and Bellamy swearing loudly in the muted distance, she finally made her way back inside.

“How hard is it to store sleeping bags in a closet, seriously?” she exclaimed, more amused than exasperated.

o0o0o

Clarke’s shift at the clinic was an early one that Monday morning. She had to be there at six, which meant she was up at five to get caffeine and food in her system before she spent eight hours on her feet. Winters were relatively quiet at the clinic, but there was something about the unfolding of spring and summer months. People were antsy to get active, and often, their choice of activity led to one of two outcomes: a very painful injury, or a very embarrassing one. Sometimes both at once.

Oh, she thought wistfully, let her have mostly embarrassing cases today, for those were the entertaining ones.

She left the house before Madi’s alarm even went off. The girl was old enough to take care of herself in the morning at this point. She was responsible, she’d get herself to school on time. She had her bike, which provided her with ample freedom. When the weather was bad and Clarke was at work early, Madi could cross over next door and ask Bellamy for a ride to school. They had a good system in place.

Harper, who manned the front desk and triage station, greeted her on her way in. Clarke smiled and waved back. She liked Harper, she was sweet. Whenever she had the time, she would stop and chat, catch up on the Green family.

That morning, however, time was a limited resource. Quickly enough, she was absorbed into her work. Hours flew by, and she was reminded of the time only when her stomach growled around 11:10. That was when she realized she had left her lunch on the kitchen counter at home. Her lunch break would be too short for her to eat out. It seemed she would have to sustain herself on vending machine snacks until dinner.

It was 11:40 when she heavily dropped into an armchair of the staff lounge, closing her eyes for a few minutes of rest before she made her choice of empty calories from the machine.

“Griffin.”

Clarke opened her eyes to acknowledge Gaia approaching. The young woman wore her signature pixie cut and expertly applied makeup, a look only she could pull off while still earning the respect she got from patients. She was the other nurse on duty today, besides Clarke. She had started her shift later in the morning and would stick around until the night shift staff took over. Clarke may not have been a fan of mornings, but she felt grateful that she could go home early and have dinner with her daughter most nights. She did not envy Gaia’s shift at all.

Before Clarke could offer Gaia any formal greeting, the latter handed her a little package she recognized instantly from the rainbow unicorn pattern Madi had picked out for her years ago. Her lunchbox.

“Your husband dropped this for you.”

Clarke snorted audibly. “If it were my husband, he must have hailed from the future. How was he? Handsome? Mysterious? Hopefully British?”

Gaia wore a confused look for a beat, before she smiled sheepishly. “Oh. Sorry, I assumed. I didn’t ask for his name. It was, uh, a man. Dark hair, freckles.”

Bellamy.

Madi must have noticed the lunchbox and asked Bellamy to drop it by the clinic before lunchtime. _Damnit._ That kid, really. What had she done in her past life to deserve a daughter like her? She must have been Mother Teresa’s distant cousin or something.

“It’s all good,” Clarke smiled at her colleague softly as she took the lunchbox off her hands. “Thank you, Gaia.”

“No problem,” Gaia replied awkwardly, before heading off to her responsibilities again.

Clarke ran a distracted hand over the powder blue fabric of her lunchbox, meditating on the gratitude she felt at being able to eat a proper meal before enduring the remaining hours of her shift. She liked a Kit Kat as much as the next girl, but she needed more than a sugar high to survive the day. So far, today’s crop of patients had been either boring or exasperating. She couldn’t wait for the glass of wine that awaited her at home tonight.

She was drawn from her thoughts by a soft chuckle to her right. Harper, who was eating at the nearby table, was eyeing her with amusement.

“You know you live in a small town when every adult is either married or divorced. Or a college kid visiting their parents,” Harper mused, having witnessed the interaction with Gaia.

Clarke smirked. “Oh, believe me, gossip has got it all wrong. The raging single-mom life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Harper grabbed her plate and moved closer to where Clarke sat by the coffee table.

“Gaia’s new,” Harper noted, “but she’ll soon be all caught up on town gossip, you just watch.”

“Can’t wait.”

Truth was, it was refreshing, sometimes, to meet someone who didn’t already know everything about her. It reminded her of the city, of her old life. But of course, her old life came with a whole swath of much less pleasant memories as well.

Harper took a bite of her reheated pasta, and Clarke started unpacking her own lunch. She had to get to eating if she wanted to finish before the end of her break.

“So, how are you?” Harper asked, changing the orientation of the conversation towards conventional small talk. “I saw your pictures on Facebook. Seemed like a nice weekend.”

“Oh, it was great. Nothing fancy, but it feels so good to get out once in a while, you know?”

Harper rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Monty’s a workaholic and always works on weekends. I guess that’s what I get for marrying a freelancer-slash-entrepreneur-slash-person-who-lives-by-his-own-frivolous-schedule. He works away at his laptops 24/7, and a weekend off the grid would sound like torture to him. And don’t get me started on our teenage son.”

Clarke chuckled in understanding. That was something Harper and Clarke had initially bonded over—raising teenagers in today’s technological era. It was only part-coincidence that their children had also become friends over the last couple of years, what with Harper and Monty frequently inviting Clarke and Madi over for dinner or mere socializing.

Clarke may not be a fan of Jordan’s clear infatuation for her daughter, but it wasn’t Harper’s fault that her son was battling hormonal overflow on a daily basis. Teenage romance was an unstoppable force of nature, which even Clarke’s ferocious mama strength could not prevent.

Clarke put on a teasing smile before replying. “Monty is probably the best husband I’ve ever seen in action. You don’t get any sympathy from me there.”

Harper’s smile was knowing in return. “Alright. I might be a _little_ lucky there. But it’s easy to idealize Monty when you haven’t ever experienced the stench of his dirty laundry.”

Clarke winced in sympathetic disgust. Her teenage daughter did not subscribe to daily showers, but she at least demonstrated a minimum of decency in her personal hygiene. Clarke couldn’t imagine living with two men.

“Anyway,” Harper chirped with a dismissive shake of the head, “enough about Monty’s smelly socks. Tell me more about the wonders of celibacy.”

Clarke chuckled, but a faint veil of discomfiture overcast her laugh. She hesitated, before finally opting to open up. She had grown fairly close to Harper since moving here. She thought if someone could understand what she was grappling with, it would be Harper, even when their lives were so divergent.

“You know," she sighed, indicating a more serious shift in their conversation, "it kind of hit me recently. In the past few years, dating never even crossed my mind. It was this alien, preposterous concept that I could barely remember as having been my reality at any point. Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about it… not as in, _planning_ to do it, but the concept as a theoretical notion has been on my mind. There’s a part of me that seems to think it would be good for me to get out of the “single mom” role once in a while. Another—and that one is quite strong—rather thinks I’m past all that. I have responsibilities, a daughter I love, and maybe that’s enough. I don’t even think I’d want to _be_ with anyone, if I try to actually imagine it, beyond the purely theoretical. It feels weird to even contemplate it.”

Harper listened intently, as she always did. She could be chirpy and chatty, but when she had to, she demonstrated a meaningful presence for those in need. That made her great at her job, and it was also why Clarke respected her so much.

Harper waited until she was sure Clarke was done before even trying to respond.

“Well, obviously I have never been in your situation, so anything I say is to be taken with a grain of salt. Evidently, you don’t have to pursue anything you don’t feel ready to do. But you know that already. What it sounds like, though, is that you think you have to choose between being alone or jumping into another great love story. You’ve had one of those, and whether it was your first _and_ last is yet unknown. But you’re trying to be overly rational about something that really doesn’t have to be. It isn’t an all-or-nothing scenario, you know. You can meet people, maybe date, maybe not. But mostly, you can have fun without it being serious.”

“What, like friends with benefits?”

“Or even better—strangers with benefits.”

Clarke scoffed with a mix of scandalized surprise and perverse amusement. “And how would I explain the string of strange men coming through our front door to my teenage daughter? Not exactly the kind of example I want to set for her.”

“Well, _obviously_ you don’t take them home. You go to _their_ place. Or their car. Or a conveniently placed public bathroom.”

Clarke shook her head in pure disbelief. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is. I mean, maybe not in a small town like this—you don’t want that kind of gossip, believe me. But, next time you go to the city, open your dating app of choice and start swiping.”

Clarke took a full minute to process the unexpected advice. Harper had to be the only person who could suggest something like that without Clarke balking at it in outrage.

Not that Clarke was agreeing, per se. She didn’t think she had it in her to have sex with strangers. She didn’t think she even found the idea appealing in any way. But she could see that there was a modicum of sense in what she was saying. Even if it weren’t for her.

Clarke finally sighed when she noticed she had two minutes left to her break. As she collected the mismatched items to store back into her lunchbox, she offered Harper a lewd smile.

“So, how is a married lady so well-versed into the topic of casual sex?”

“I wasn’t married my whole life, Clarke.”

That left Clarke with so much room for her blooming imagination.

o0o0o

When Clarke finally got home, she took the longest shower known to man—but a man with bills to pay, because Clarke wasn’t about to bust her electricity bill this month on a single shower. That was Madi’s specialty, not hers.

She was sighing in content relief, getting back to her bedroom with a towel wrapped around herself, when she noticed the screen of her phone flashing from where she had left it on the bed. Stopping to take a look, she saw it was a text from Bellamy.

_Hey. You home?_

Over the course of the past years, Clarke dared say she had gotten to know Bellamy quite well. One of the very first things she had learned about him was that Bellamy was appallingly bad at expressing his feelings. Clarke had to painstakingly learn how to interpret his words for what they really meant.

In this case, she knew a text reading _Hey. You home?_ meant “Anxiety is bad, can you come over?”

 _There in a sec,_ she replied simply.

She sighed as she threw the phone back on the bed, and walked over to her closet to get dressed.

o0o0o

Bellamy’s house was looking better.

One should make no mistake—it was still a mess, and maybe it would always be so. It wasn’t quite the “normal” kind of messy, but it was inhabitable, and that was a significant improvement from the way it had been when Clarke had first seen it. The kitchen was probably the cleanest room, and now that Bellamy had regained control of it, he kept it impeccably clean and functional at all times. As a result, he ate healthier homecooked meals on a regular basis now.

(“You know how to cook?” Clarke had asked him in astonishment when she had first caught him handling food in a shockingly skillful manner.

He had eyed her impassively. “I basically raised Octavia in her teenage years. What, you thought I fed her ramen every day?”

She did not gratify that question with a response. Because she supposed that yes, she had kind of thought that.)

His bedroom was veering on the cramped side, but there was space to walk around. The living room was definitely uninviting still, but the furniture had re-emerged, and there was space for guests to sit and chat. Not that Bellamy ever had guests, though. Sure, he’d never say it, but Clarke knew he was proud of his achievements, especially since he had been the one doing the work—Clarke had merely facilitated the process and served as an emotional punching bag when it got too overwhelming. Yet, she also knew he remained ashamed of having let it get so bad in the first place. Even though he wouldn’t admit that either.

While much better today, his house would still put off most people if not mentally prepared. It wasn’t really dirty or gross anymore, but the mess was unusual. Most people would struggle to understand the condition behind it. Bellamy certainly wouldn’t want to explain it to them anyway.

Hence, strangers were still off-limits. Any gathering with close friends occurred outside, although bathroom breaks were now allowed—to Octavia’s principal relief. (“I swear, my bladder was going to explode one of these days. It’s not like I could go pee in the bush like Miller or Murphy.”) Clarke was one of the few people with the unspoken authorization to come in at any time. She continued to come over and help with triage once in a while, although their sessions were now more spaced out. Progress was slow, but it was progress nonetheless.

When she made it to Bellamy’s house that day after work, once showered and dressed, she knocked, ready to use her spare key if she earned no response.

Within seconds, she heard the doorknob turning inside. When the door opened to reveal Bellamy, she thought he looked normal. Of course, “normal” remained a word Clarke distrusted. She knew Bellamy was skilled at covering up his anxiety with an unsuspecting air of nonchalance. Maybe even a smile, when the situation called for it.

With Clarke, however, he allowed his eyes to carry more truthful disquietude than he would otherwise have let transpire.

“Hey,” Clarke offered with a soft smile. She walked inside when Bellamy stepped aside for her.

“Hey.”

When Bellamy’s anxiety became too much to handle, talking to someone about simple things helped. Clarke had become an expert in the field of Bellamy-friendly small talk.

“Thanks for bringing my lunchbox this morning,” she offered while browsing casually through his fridge. “Did Madi put you up to it?”

“Yeah. She overslept a bit, so she asked for a lift to school. She left me the lunchbox with very strict instructions to get it to you by 11:30.”

“I got it at 11:40, technically.”

“Blame the nurse with the overdrawn eyebrows for that. I was on time.”

“Gaia’s eyebrows aren’t overdrawn.”

“I could see them from the parking lot.”

“What do you even know about female fashion?”

“I know eyebrows aren’t meant to be perfectly rectangular.”

“Whatever.” She pulled grapes out of Bellamy’s fruit drawer in the fridge and moved towards the counter space by the sink to wash them. “Wait, if Madi didn’t take her bike this morning, does that mean I have to pick her up?”

“She said she’d walk, could use the exercise. Told her to call if she got tired.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, knowing that probably meant Jordan was walking too. She made no comment, though, instead focusing on washing the grapes of any residual dirt before serving them in a bowl on the kitchen island.

“So,” she finally said, plopping a grape in her mouth, “how are you?”

Bellamy leaned to rest his forearms on the surface of the island, eyeing the grapes. “Been better.”

Clarke nodded in understanding. “Any specific trigger?”

“Not really.”

“Hm.” She ate a couple more grapes before pushing the bowl closer to Bellamy. “Well, I have an idea.”

Bellamy plopped a grape in his mouth, now eyeing _her_ in suspicious curiosity.

Clarke carried on. “You know what helps _me_ relax and never fails? A warm bath.”

Bellamy frowned, scowling dismissively. “Good for you,” he muttered sarcastically.

“Oh, come on, don’t ditch it before you’ve even tried it. Here’s my offer: I’ll draw you a bath, I’ve even brought my essential oils in my bag. When I go home to fix Madi’s dinner, you’ll relax in your soothing, bubbly bath, and then you can eat whatever leftover I see you have in your fridge. Then read, and sleep.”

“Okay, and at what point do I hand you the keys to my masculinity in that plan?”

“Baths aren’t gendered, that’s just you listening to society’s nonsense. Now eat your grapes while I get that bath ready.”

To Clarke’s surprise, Bellamy did not protest further. He grumbled a little while munching on grapes, but he let her disappear into his bathroom to work her magic. The airy scent of lavender reached him soon enough.

When she reappeared into the kitchen, it was about the time Madi would get home.

“Alright, get in there before it gets cold.” She walked over to where he still stood by the kitchen island and rested a hand on his tense shoulder. “I gotta go, but let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Bellamy nodded. He didn’t thank her before she left.

He didn’t have to.

o0o0o

That night, Clarke had a simple dinner with Madi, during which she managed to extract only the tiniest bits of information about her day at school. Then, Madi disappeared into her room with A.L.I.E.

Clarke regretted the days when Madi would excitedly boast about every single detail of her day to her and Lexa. She supposed she had to feel grateful they had maintained a close, mostly loving relationship in spite of Madi’s troubling age. The teenager didn’t show her love in the same overt ways as before, but Clarke knew it was there. Some things didn’t have to be said to be real.

Clarke dropped into the living room couch with a sigh of relief. Another day over. Another one tomorrow. She searched for the TV remote, and of course found it in the most remote crack of the cushions, right by Lexa’s table.

It felt silly to call it that, but when Clarke had found this little wooden table at a yard sale in the summer of Madi’s 13th birthday, everything about it had reminded her of Lexa. It was an antique, and although Clarke knew nothing about what period it was from or what it was used for—that would have been Lexa’s expertise—she knew it was the kind Lexa would have instantly fallen in love with. She could see it was in good condition too. She accepted the owner’s first price and brought it home. It was that evening that Clarke and Madi pulled the Lexa box from the depths of the laundry room closet. Some of her most precious items were now displayed on their addition to the living room décor. Lexa’s smile from the beach picture looked protectively and lovingly over their new home. Her favourite “Best Teacher” mug and a few of her key chains had been expertly arranged by Madi to form an aesthetic finish. That way, they had a little bit of Lexa in their new lives. And with time, seeing Lexa’s picture every day grew less and less painful.

Pensively observing Lexa’s picture, Clarke’s mind traveled back to Harper’s words earlier that day. About seeing people, having fun without the pressure of seeking serious relationships she didn’t feel ready for.

And weirdly, it clicked. Maybe it was how she stared at Lexa’s smile while thinking about it, or maybe it was just common sense finally reaching her. But it clicked.

_Lexa wouldn’t want you to be lonely out of principle._

Lexa would have wanted her to be happy, to lead her life to the fullest. Even if that meant opening herself up to new romantic connections.

Clarke wasn’t quite convinced she felt ready for that, but she did sense Harper was on to something, in an inexplicable way.

Clarke had reflecting to do, and she knew the thought would keep her up tonight.

It always did, when she had important decisions to make.


	9. The 1968 Chevy Corvette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there. The 17th chapter has just been completed. I am not posting as fast as in the beginning, but we _are_ getting there.
> 
> Also, I sense I must apologize for the events of this chapter.
> 
> ... Yeah, that's all.

Madi liked Jordan.

Clarke knew it. Bellamy knew it. Charlotte knew it. Jordan’s parents knew it.

Everybody knew it. Except Madi.

Bellamy was quite certain the boy was smitten with Madi, too. She was a catch, that girl. She had everything a teenage boy could hope for: pretty eyes, cutting sarcasm, and extensive knowledge of classic cars. Bellamy was a proud mentor.

Madi was growing into a talented carpenter, too. When the girl had turned 14, Clarke had figuratively lifted her ban on pointy objects in the workshop, thereby allowing Madi to truly become Bellamy’s unofficial apprentice. She now helped Bellamy with all of his larger-scale projects. He had also started paying her a small wage in return for her work a few months back. She said she was saving for a car, for when she turned sixteen. She didn’t want no Mazda 3 or Toyota Prius, thank you very much. Bellamy kept an eye on decent cars hitting the second-hand market, in case he saw anything he thought would suit Madi’s fancy. Her birthday wasn’t for a year, but you never knew when the right car would become available.

In the meantime, Madi helped out in the workshop most days after school. These days, they were carrying out his latest order of walnut cabinets for a client in the city. With Madi’s help, he could get projects done a lot faster, and business was actually doing quite well.

Whenever they called it a day, he’d let her dawdle with his tools. Her brand-new toolbox was not as complete as his, after all. She had started coming up with inventive ideas for artsy decorative pieces. Coat racks, candle holders, picture frames, Christmas decorations. All very different from Bellamy’s more practical and subdued style, but quite skillful nonetheless.

“You should give that to your little friend, Jordan,” he had said about one of her creations, once.

He quickly learned that this was not the thing to say. He had not dared mention her “little friend” again after that.

On that particular Saturday afternoon of early June, Bellamy was taking measurements in preparation for their next commission, while Madi carved the finishing touches on her latest creation—a birdhouse for Clarke. The latter had mentioned in passing that she missed seeing the bluebirds nesting in grandma Abby’s birdhouses back home. Bellamy had been sworn to secrecy about Madi's project, which hadn’t proven to be a particularly challenging mission. Clarke was spending a lot of her time in the city these days, for a series of trainings she had been called to attend for work. She was rarely around to catch any hint of the surprise.

As they worked independently, Bellamy and Madi’s companionable silence was abruptly interrupted by the rumbling sound of an old, thundering engine pulling into the driveway.

Madi threw him a quizzical glance. “Were you waiting for a client?”

Bellamy looked just as puzzled. “No.”

Overtaken with curiosity, they both dropped their tools and rushed to the door in curious anticipation.

The sight that awaited them outside was breath-taking. A bright, blood-orange piece of ingenuous machinery casually sat in Bellamy’s driveway. Two-seat, convertible, elongated and curved on the hood. A dream in material form.

“Is that…” Madi uttered in a dazed whisper.

“Yep,” Bellamy confirmed, barely more alert. “A 1968 Chevrolet Corvette.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah.”

And then, the pièce de résistance.

The driver’s door opened, and the longest pair of legs emerged, followed by the remaining parts of a tall, modestly curvy, and intimidatingly gorgeous woman. Her light brown hair cascaded in effortless waves around her face and over her shoulders. Her aviator sunglasses were crowned with perfectly shaped eyebrows, and the sun radiated in an eerie shimmer across her smooth olive skin.

She pushed the door of her car shut and gracefully started making her way towards them. She raised a hand to her sunglasses, which she pulled off her face and buried into her hair atop her head. Her eyes were piercingly vibrant. She smiled confidently upon her approach, as if plainly aware of the effect she had on people. She probably was.

“You Bellamy?” she asked, eyeing him steadfastly with her chestnut-coloured pupils.

The man, speechless, nodded slow-wittedly. Next to him, Madi rolled her eyes.

The mysterious woman smirked. “I’m Echo.” She outstretched a hand, which Bellamy was a second too slow to catch and shake. “I hear you’re the best man there is with classics like this one.” She pointed at her beauty of a car for needless clarity.

At that, Bellamy seemed to regain consciousness. “Oh. Well. I’m glad my reputation precedes me.” He paired his words with a dumb chuckle. Madi rolled her eyes again.

Echo’s smile only widened faintly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead, I didn’t have a number. I hope now’s not a bad time.”

“Oh! No, no, not at all!” Bellamy turned his attention to the car and appeared to compose himself instantly. “What’s the matter?”

He started circling the vehicle, inspecting it while he listened to Echo’s explanations.

“Nothing’s the matter per se," she answered with her laidback tone. "I am taking part in a classic car parade in a few weeks, and I just want to make sure everything’s in order. I haven’t given it much love over the winter months. Wouldn’t want any surprises.”

“Oh, for sure.” Bellamy inspected the car some more, before returning his attention to Echo. “Who was it that recommended me, you said?”

A faint mutter of “she didn’t say” came from the general direction of where Madi stood. Neither of them paid it any mind.

“Diyoza.”

“Charmaine?”

“Hope.”

Bellamy nodded appreciatively. He had worked with the Diyozas for years. Charmaine had been Pike’s faithful client for years before Bellamy took over. She was an avid collector of classic cars, and the holder of countless famous prizes from elitist car shows. When her daughter Hope came of age, she was quick to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

“Well,” Bellamy finally said, coming back to face Echo, “I don’t think this is going to require all that much work, but I’ll have to keep it for a few days, if you want me to do a full check-up.”

The daunting woman smiled with the ease of someone who knew her best attributes and how to use them. “That’s alright. I trust you’ll do your magic.”

Bellamy fought the blush rising on his face. “You need a ride anywhere?”

Echo shook her head, smile unwavering. “No, that’s alright. My friend Roan’s over at the gas station, he’ll be picking me up soon. Do I have to pay anything upfront?”

“Oh, no, that’s alright. I trust Diyoza’s friends.”

Echo seemed pleased at that.

At that very moment, a much more modern and much less impressive car turned the corner and pulled up to the house, stopping right in front of it. Inside, a man with wide shoulders, muscled arms and long hair tied back into a bun waited solemnly.

“Well, that’s my ride,” Echo sighed. “Thank you for doing this, Bellamy. And here.” She pulled out a piece of paper from her jeans’ back pocket. She handed it out to Bellamy.

Curious, he unfolded it to reveal a phone number. The whole affair was so surreal that Bellamy was mostly speechless. He felt like a character in a 90's movie.

“Call me when it’s done. Or, you know, if anything comes up.”

Bellamy was back to nodding dumbly, as the woman disappeared into the boring car and disappeared into the distance.

When he finally turned away from the road, he caught Madi in a very impressive rendition of a person puking her guts out.

“That was gross,” she finally commented, before heading back to the workshop.

Bellamy snorted awkwardly and followed.

o0o0o

The end of the school year was celebrated with a barbecue on Clarke and Madi’s lawn. In attendance were Bellamy, Abby and Marcus, Octavia and Lincoln, Miller and Jackson, Murphy and Emori, Charlotte and her family, and of course, Harper, Monty and Jordan.

Bellamy had near-aggressively chased Clarke away from the grill, now manning it all by himself on grounds of everyone else's incompetence with the science of medium-well meat. Occasionally, when he thought no one was looking, he slipped A.L.I.E. grossly-undeserved pieces of meat, to the labradoodle's jubilant delight. Meanwhile, the rest of the guests chattered animatedly in sparse clusters.

Abby sat with Clarke on a blanket laid out on the lawn, slightly removed from everyone else. Together, they quietly observed the eclectic group of people before them, studying each of them like laidback zoologists on a field trip. To their right, Madi, Charlotte and Jordan played catch with A.L.I.E., under the vaguely watchful eye of their respective parents. On the deck, Marcus gave Bellamy pointers on the grilling which the latter man was evidently going to ignore. To the left, Harper and Monty were animatedly recounting stories to a fascinated Emori and a completely bored Murphy. Down by the porch, Octavia and Lincoln were bickering with their usual lack of spite or actual anger. Not too far away, Miller and Jackson eyed them with amusement. The whole scene felt organic and oddly familiar by now. These were Clarke’s people, no longer just Bellamy’s friends or her colleagues from work. They were an eclectic yet cohesive community for Clarke and Madi to exist in.

Cozily nestled onto their blanket, Clarke was nursing a beer, and Abby a lemonade. The latter took a sip of her beverage before finally turning to her daughter with a smile that denoted her endearment.

“That’s a nice get-together you’ve made happen, Clarke.” She looked over the small crowd appreciatively. “They’re a great group of people.”

Clarke raised a dubious eyebrow. “Really?” she huffed. “I thought you didn’t approve of my social circle. A little too _alternative_ for your taste.”

Abby scoffed. “Okay, so I make _one_ comment about Emori’s face tattoo and I am suddenly a judge-y conservative grandma?”

“Your words, not mine.”

Abby shook her head disapprovingly and sipped some more of her lemonade.

“Well,” she reprised with disingenuous indignation. “I’m tempted to give you the silent treatment, but I _can_ be the bigger person. So I’ll still thank you for inviting me and Marcus over." Then, she dropped all pretense of affront. "It feels good to get out of the house, and out of the city, once in a while.”

Clarke offered a smile dense with meaning and intent. “You’re always welcome, mom. You know that.”

Abby smiled back. “I know.”

There was a heavy silence, and Clarke did not handle these kinds of dreadfully authentic moments with her mom well. She chuckled and changed the topic almost instantly.

“Honestly, I wanted to make this a much bigger affair, complete with piñata and games, but Bellamy insisted Madi would hate me forever if I subjected her to that.”

“Wise man.”

Clarke scoffed with indignation. “ _Stop_. You used to hate him. You don’t get to just take his side when it suits you.”

Abby hummed in mild disagreement. “I wouldn’t say _hate_.”

“You called him, and I quote, a _doom merchant_ when you met him for the first time.”

“ _Well_ , he wasn’t the warmest individual I’d ever met, let’s say.” That was an understatement, to say the least. “But he grows on you.”

Clarke turned her gaze to the neighbour in question, currently manning the grill with an excess of zeal and solemnity. She smiled faintly “That, he does.”

The food was ready soon enough. Guests crowded around the grill as Bellamy dictated his stern instructions for smooth service. Hands full with their packed plates of food, people dispersed once more on the deck and lawn. Everyone ate avidly, which Bellamy evidently chose to take as a compliment.

Later, when the trash can overflowed with dirty plates and crumpled napkins, Bellamy led an impromptu expedition of car nerds—composed of Marcus, Emori, Harper, Madi and her friends—over to his driveway, where the infamous Chevy Corvette still sat conspicuously. It had been there for a little over a week, and Madi had spent all of her evenings at Bellamy's because of it. The latter was teaching the girl about the specific repairs and maintenance appropriate for this particular model, and Madi was committing every piece of information to memory, reciting it to Clarke whenever the opportunity arose to flaunt her knowledge. Bellamy had apparently found a little snag in the engine—which Clarke would be hard-pressed to explain, in spite of Madi’s detailed recounting of each session—and Madi had earned herself an intensive mechanics training program as a result. Apparently, the owner was coming to get the car back in just a few days, so this was everyone’s last opportunity to fawn over the car.

Abby rolled her eyes as she watched them all excitedly rush next door.

“I’ll be hearing so much about that car tonight, I don’t think I’m ready.”

Clarke turned an amused expression towards her mother. “Marcus is a fan of cars?”

“Not on a daily basis. But there’s something about classic cars that turns people’s brains to mush. Suddenly, they become experts and won’t shut up about it.”

“Sounds like Madi.”

“At least Madi knows what she’s talking about.”

Clarke chuckled as she took another swig of beer. She had seen enough of that car and heard enough about its owner. She would much rather stay here and enjoy the sun while it was still out.

o0o0o

Most people were gone by eight-thirty. Only Octavia and Lincoln remained. They quietly chatted with Madi on the deck, while Clarke observed them peacefully from her now deserted blanket.

Bellamy, who had been cleaning up for the past hour, persistently refusing Clarke’s help every time she offered, finally drew to Clarke’s side and sat in the spot previously occupied by Abby.

“Here,” he muttered, casually dropping a book onto Clarke’s lap. “I’ve finished it, I think Madi might like it.”

Clarke eyed the cover—purple-ish, showcasing a dainty-looking house and a hauntingly death-like cavalier figure. _5150 Elm’s Way_ , the title read.

Her eyes gleamed with amused curiosity as she looked back up. “And you’re giving it to me because…?”

Bellamy shrugged nonchalantly, drinking his beer to cover up any appearance of readiness. “If you want to approve it first.”

Clarke nodded approvingly, smiling knowingly. “Is it appropriate?”

“Yes.”

“Violence-free?”

“Yes.”

“Language clean?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Yes.”

Clarke snorted. She rolled her eyes, then sighed. “Fine,” she said, throwing the book aside for later treatment. “But I’m reading it first.”

“Good plan.”

They eased into a comfortable silence, watching Madi drinking Octavia and Lincoln’s words as if they were wisdom from the olden times. She was so ensconced into the conversation, she barely blinked. Clarke wished Madi would be this keen when they talked about housework and chores.

The quietude of the later evening air was abruptly disrupted by a faint _ding_ emanating from Bellamy’s back pocket. The latter reached for his phone and eyed it lazily. His demeanour changed slightly upon reading the message, but he typed a response swiftly and innocuously, then shoved it back into his pocket.

Curious, Clarke could not help but inquire. “Who was it?”

Bellamy shrugged it off with unnatural quickness. “No one.”

He looked nervous. Clarke could not see why, but opted not to push the matter. Bellamy was his own person. No matter how close they had grown to each other, Bellamy did not bear any obligation to share everything with her. If he did not want to talk about it, then he was allowed to have his secret garden.

She returned her attention to her daughter, who was now sharing a story of her own to her indulgent audience. It was only when Bellamy spoke again that Clarke flipped her eyes back to him.

“Still on for tomorrow night?” he asked, referring to plans discussed the day before.

“Oh, yep.” she confirmed, briskly switching gears to mom-Clarke. “I’m taking off to the city very early in the morning. There’s leftovers in the fridge, so Madi will be fine for lunch. I won’t be back until late, though. You know, I’ve _tried_ teaching her the basics of cooking, but I really don’t believe she was paying attention. I wouldn’t trust her around heating elements just yet.”

Bellamy chuckled. “It’s alright. I’ll come over around 5PM. I’ll make my famous pesto lasagna. Who knows, maybe I’ll get her to learn from the master.”

Clarke scoffed, unimpressed. “The worst part is," she admitted half-heartedly, "she’d probably pay attention if _you_ tried to teach her.”

Bellamy was definitely pleased by the concession. He did not even try to hide his beaming pride. It was outrageous, really. “Then it’s settled,” he responded more demurely than his smile implied.

Clarke nodded in disgruntled agreement. Then, her expression shifted to bitter disappointment. “Damn,” she groaned piteously. “That means I’ll miss the pesto lasagna, though.” Clarke sighed in subdued despair. “Stupid training days.”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of leftovers.”

“With a fifteen-year-old teen in the equation? I wouldn’t put my money on it.”

Bellamy chuckled again, before easing into blissful quietude. With the details of tomorrow’s schedule all laid out, they sat in renewed silence until Octavia and Lincoln took their leave.

When the sun finally slipped behind the tree line, they each made their way back to their respective homes for the night.

o0o0o

“I thought Clarke was gay.”

Octavia’s random remark was so sudden and outlandish, it drew Bellamy’s attention away from the last touch-ups he had been fiddling over on the Corvette.

He glanced in her direction with a deadpan expression. “She is,” he uttered simply, before returning his attention to the car. In his voice was a hint of _shouldn’t you know this by now?_ Because she should.

“Well,” Octavia responded indignantly, “then why did I see her on a date with a guy the other day?”

Bellamy halted his fiddling once more and turned back to Octavia with a befuddled frown. “Huh?” he uttered ineloquently.

Octavia gave him a pointed look. _Yeah, now you’re listening_ , it seemed to say. “Lincoln and I went to the city the other day. You know, the day after Clarke’s little get-together for Madi. We were visiting his aunt Indra for her birthday. She didn’t want to do anything too crazy, she hates celebrations, but Lincoln convinced her to go out as just the three of us, to keep it simple.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bellamy brushed her explanation off with an impatient wave of the hand, telling her to get to the point.

Her lips tightened in annoyance, but she carried on regardless. “Well, we went to that café downtown I’ve told you about, The Dancing Moose. The one with the maple syrup specialty drinks.” Seeing Bellamy’s impatience grow, she accelerated the explanation. “Anyway, long story short, Clarke was there. She didn’t see us, but we saw her. And she was on a date with a man. A _hot_ man, if I may add.”

Bellamy's brows furrowed deeper, as he weaved his way out of the confusion and shock triggered by Octavia’s reveal. Manifestly, he ended up electing to reject Octavia’s interpretation. “It wasn’t a date.” He sounded sure. In reality, he was fighting off creeping doubts.

Octavia was not convinced. “How do you know that?”

“How do _you_ know it was a date? It could have been a friend, or a colleague.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Do a lot of people you know kiss their colleagues on the mouth? Man, maybe I need to reconsider my career choice, I’m clearly missing out on all the fun.”

Bellamy's frown was reaching caricatural levels. The doubts were growing more obnoxious. “Are you sure it was Clarke? Could have been someone who looked like her.”

Octavia huffed. “I’ve known Clarke long enough to tell the difference between her and a random lookalike. Plus, I may or may not have spied on their conversation when I walked over to the bathroom. It was Clarke. With a hot dude. And they were on a date.”

Bellamy was at a loss for words. That didn’t make sense. He’d known Clarke for years. When they had met, she had been grieving her deceased partner Lexa, whom she declared as the love of her life. Sure, Clarke had mentioned boyfriends, but they had all happened before Lexa. Bellamy had always assumed she had come to terms with her sexuality at a later point in life. With Lexa.

Octavia seemed oblivious to his spiraling train of thought as she distractedly bit her nails. “Well,” she finally let out, shrugging it all off, “I guess that makes her bisexual. Or pansexual? Gosh, I feel like an old ignorant fuck right now.”

 _Yeah._ Bellamy thought. _You and me both._

o0o0o

Echo came later that afternoon.

She had texted a few times throughout the day, first to confirm the pickup time, and then for various other reasons not entirely related to the car.

They had been texting a lot over the past week. It always started with the guise of a car-related inquiry, then evolved into lighter, more menial matters. _She’s flirting_ , a distant, obnoxious part of him screamed in his head. He brushed it off carelessly each time.

Still, the thought lingered. It troubled him. He did not know what to make of it.

She arrived in the same car as the one from the other day, driven by the same scary-looking man. She got out of the car with a smile and a wave to Bellamy. She turned to tell the driver a few words, and the latter drove off with the same unwavering expression. Bellamy was certainly glad his client was Echo and not that scary Roan character. The stone-cold man sent shivers down Bellamy's spine, and he hadn't even met the guy.

“Hey,” Echo said in her suave voice as she walked up the driveway.

“Hey.” Bellamy’s throat felt like sandpaper all of a sudden.

He couldn’t explain it, but when Echo was in the vicinity of wherever he stood, he felt like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. He couldn’t move, couldn’t escape. Part of him panicked, wanted out. Meanwhile, a different, more perverse part of him wanted to watch it all unfold.

Echo was attractive. Very, very attractive. And for a man who had practically sworn off dating for years, feeling too broken and _wrong_ to even consider it, seeing a beautiful woman so overtly flirting with him was terrifying.

Because Echo _was_ most definitely flirting with him. Her texts had been dripping with innuendo all week. Even as she walked up his driveway now, she smiled in that charming, nearly predatory way that had been so unsettling the first time. When she finally stopped in front of him, probably closer than social norms dictated, she swept her hair behind her shoulders, bringing more focus to her tan shoulders.

He couldn’t run. All he could do was try to think of something to say.

“The car’s ready,” he uttered, punching himself mentally because _duh_ , that was why she was even here.

She seemed unfazed by the idiocy of his comment. She only smiled a little more.

Getting a hold of himself, he walked her through the repairs and improvements he had done, while she listened intently. He gave her recommendations, about which she asked carefully thought-out questions.

People often assumed that hot women drove hot cars for show, to impress men. As if an attractive girl could not _possibly_ possess the mental capacity to appreciate cars and their inner workings. Echo was nothing like that stereotype. Not because she was ‘not like other girls,’ but really because the ‘other girls’ stereotype was a smelly load of crap. Nearly half of Bellamy’s clients were women. Raven Reyes had to be the greatest genius he’d ever gotten to meet, beating even his mentor Charles Pike. That woman belonged on industrial plants devising engineering masterpieces more than she did here as the owner of the local repair shop.

Hence, Echo was an attractive woman who knew a thing or two—or hundreds—about cars. Bellamy quickly found himself easing into a comfortable, organic conversation with her. After a while, Bellamy awkwardly apologized for holding her back—clearly, she must want to get back home soon. Echo smirked, declaring she had nowhere to be, and if he had drinks to offer, she’d be happy to give that fire pit a test drive—pun intended.

Bellamy could see no reason to refuse.

For nearly two hours, they talked, drank and laughed around the crackling fire. Bellamy was not a man who opened up easily, but there was something about Echo that put him at ease. She bore an intimidating air of unwavering confidence, but when they sat outside like this, talking about random childhood stories with beers and a sunset, she felt so much more human. So much more real.

When she started telling him her life story, he listened with intent.

Echo had been raised by stoic, conservative, Catholic parents. As a teen, she had unsurprisingly rebelled. She did parties, drugs, alcohol, sex. All the bad decisions she could tick off the list. Initially, she just wanted to piss off her parents. Then, she wanted to find her true self. Then, she wanted to forget who she really was.

One night, she passed out on the side of the road and was left there by her “friend” Ash, who was too drunk to even realize what was happening. Echo could have died that night. Or been abused. Or who knows what else.

Instead, she was found by a scary, hardened and yet benevolent truck driver on her last leg of a long-distance trip. She saw Echo, stopped her truck, and carried her inside the cabin. She stayed with her, feeding her water and pieces of a granola bar until she was conscious and somewhat functional again. She slipped her phone number in Echo's jeans pocket as she dropped her home, insisting she call her in the morning to tell her she was alright. They never stopped calling after that.

The saviour’s name was Charmaine Diyoza. She saved Echo’s life, and then patiently flipped it on its head, one cynical life lesson at a time. She became a surrogate mother figure and helped Echo find less damaging outlets for her anger and frustration.

Echo was now a social worker working with troubled teens. With her ability to alternate between humane charm and stern austerity, Bellamy had no doubt she excelled at her job.

By the time the sun fully disappeared behind the trees, Bellamy felt he knew her.

He also no longer felt sober and presumed Echo was in a similar predicament. The prospect gave rise to latent panic, which rapidly overtook his prior sense of ease and comfort. He could sense where this was going. It would get late, she would ask to go inside, and he _couldn’t._ He couldn’t invite her inside, let her stay here. His house was better now, but… it wasn’t ready. _He_ wasn’t ready.

Still, the inevitable came. Their laughter slowly quieted down, until mere silence stood between them. Echo’s eyes rested on Bellamy, and she looked at him so intensely, so raw. He felt his heart sink before he even heard the words.

“So,” she let a pause hang in the air before adding, “are you gonna invite me in?”

He held his breath long enough to make Echo’s confidence waver. Finally, he sighed deeply and slowly, looking defeated.

“I can’t,” he muttered in a breath, staring at the ground dejectedly, shamefully.

Echo chuckled awkwardly. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re married?” She tried humour to cover up her embarrassment.

That had the merit of drawing a genuinely chuckle out of Bellamy. “No, no, it’s uh…” Then he frowned again, facing a crossroad with a choice he did not know how to make. Finally, he gave in to the truth. “It’s my house, it’s… it’s messy. And not just in the way people say it’s messy when it really isn’t. I have a problem. And it’s complicated. I can’t invite people inside. I’m sorry.”

He expected her to snort, roll her eyes, or judge silently. Any of those reactions would have made sense. Yet, she opted for none of them.

For a long moment, she seemed to carefully, quietly assess him and his answer. When finally she spoke, it was with an unexpectedly sincere smile on her lips.

“We all have our baggage, huh?” she said casually. As if he had just shared the most common kind of personal information.

Instantly, Bellamy felt some of his burden lift off his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess.”

Echo nodded, staring pensively into the ambers of the dying fire.

After a while, she spoke again. “Well I am too drunk to drive right now. You mind if I stick around for a little longer, while I sober up?”

He smiled tentatively. “No. Not at all.” And he meant it.

It was late, very late, when she finally left in her iconic Chevy Corvette. Bellamy watched her disappear into the distance, until she was but a vivid memory of a bizarre and weirdly edifying night.


	10. Billowing Hair Locks In the Breeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Bellarke endgame? 
> 
> Yes.
> 
> Is this chapter going to be painful for Bellarke fans? 
> 
> Also yes.
> 
> Do I feel sorry about it?
> 
> Hold on, let me grab my glass of wine.

Since his epiphany surrounding Clarke’s dating life, Bellamy had yet to find the courage to ask Clarke about it. It didn’t seem appropriate, and mostly felt nosy on his part.

It came as a relief when Clarke basically blurted it out one afternoon, entirely out of the blue. Madi was over at Charlotte’s house that day. Bellamy had come over to beautify Clarke’s flower beds—Clarke did _not_ have a green thumb, and Bellamy wouldn’t trust her around any living thing that wasn’t Madi or A.L.I.E.

When he finally wrapped up his gardening spree for the day, Clarke offered drinks on her deck as a thank you. It was then, sitting side by side in the warmth of the mid-summer sun, that Clarke unburdened herself abruptly.

“I am seeing someone.” Just like that. No prelude. Just those four words.

Bellamy’s eyes shot up to meet hers. Right away, he saw how anxious she looked, as she impatiently awaited a verdict he apparently had to give.

“Oh?” he offered ineloquently, figuratively kicking himself for it.

“Yeah…” she sighed uncomfortably.

Her face was scrunched up in unease and in what vaguely resembled shame. She rather looked like a teenager admitting to having scratched her parents’ car than an adult revealing natural details pertaining to her love life.

Bellamy sensed it fell onto him to act as casually as he could.

“Who’s the lucky person?” he asked with a positively curious lilt to his tone.

Clarke’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly. Only very slightly. She sighed, scratching her forehead, probably without it actually itching.

“His name is Cillian. We met in the city a few weeks ago. It was after my third training session, and… I don’t know, Harper had been drilling it into my head that I should get back into the playing field, and that I should download this dating app. At first, it was out of curiosity, and then I started matching with people, and I was panicking, but then he came up and started a conversation with the stupidest pickup line I'd ever heard. It made me laugh. I replied, and we’ve been chatting ever since. We’ve met four times now. And I have no idea how to tell Madi. If I should even tell her _. God_ , I don’t even know how I got myself into this. I didn’t even want to date.”

Bellamy nodded, in a daze, piecing together the chaotic information she had just anxiously divulged.

“Is it serious?” he asked simply.

Clarke appeared unsettled by the question. She frowned.

“I… I don’t know. I am not sure I know what qualifies as serious in today’s dating world.”

“I mean,” Bellamy drawled, pausing dramatically before adding, “you need a diagram?”

Clarke’s body literally shook in horror as she emitted hyperbolic gagging sounds. “Ew, no. _Please_ , don’t give me the sex talk.”

Bellamy let out a genuine chuckle, which relaxed the overall atmosphere for the both of them.

The breeze picked up in the distance, whisking Clarke’s hair in lazy waving motions. She barely seemed to notice, but Bellamy did. Whenever a rebellious lock of blonde hair infringed onto the skin of her face, it shimmered in the sun and heightened the porcelain-like softness of her skin. As silly as that sounded. He had read countless male poets describing female bodies in preposterous idealizations of seraphic beauty. Every time, he had scoffed, wondering how the objectified woman must have felt about that obnoxious exhibition of the male gaze.

In moments like this one, he felt he could understand those dead poets.

He shared none of this haphazard reflection to Clarke. It was neither the moment nor the time. Joking about it would achieve nothing towards dispelling this awkwardness between them. Romance and hookups were such a thorny topic to discuss as adults, he found.

They both had a few gulps of their respective drinks before Clarke finally spoke up again. This time, she looked calmer, albeit solemn.

“Seriously, though. I don’t know what I’m doing. And I’m terrified.”

Bellamy’s gaze was piercingly acute and all-consuming as he asked, “Is that guy, uh…”

“Cillian.”

“Right. Cillian. Is Cillian a good guy?”

Clarke thought about it for a second, then smiled weakly. “Yes. I think he is.”

Bellamy nodded approvingly. “Then you have nothing to worry about. If he doesn’t get where you’re coming from, then he’s not worth it.”

Clarke frowned lightly. She seemed unconvinced, yet vaguely reassured by Bellamy’s answer.

“I mean, I don’t know how I feel about him yet,” she added insistently.

Bellamy shrugged. “That’s okay. No one says you have to get married to the guy.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like Harper.”

“Harper sounds like a wise gal.”

“Sure, when it’s convenient.”

Clarke noticed Bellamy did not seem quite finished with what he wanted to say. From where he sat, he eyed her carefully, hesitantly. He had no wealth of wise advice to share in times like this one, but there was something he felt the need to say to her. It felt important.

Clarke patiently waited for him to find the words.

“You know you deserve to be happy, right?” he finally asked, and Clarke was at a loss for a response.

She considered the question cautiously, weighing each word with bashful compliance. Then, she smiled. “Thanks.” A beat. “And so do you, you know.”

Bellamy lowered his eyes at that addition. It was much easier than done, he realized.

o0o0o

Echo continued texting Bellamy every day.

It was nothing particularly serious. She would send him pictures of cool cars she saw in the city, tell him about idiots she met on the street, complain about work. Bellamy reciprocated with pictures of his work in the shop and witty responses to her complaints—or at least, he hoped they were witty. His flirty humour was rusty, to say the least.

Not that he _was_ flirting per se.

Or maybe he was. He supposed Clarke had a point when she implied that today’s dating world was cryptic and confusing. He never felt one hundred percent sure of Echo’s intentions, nor of his own. Flirting over text felt both unnatural and thrilling. He was a teenager again, trying to crack the code.

It was just some lightweight flirting anyway. Nothing serious. Until, that was, Echo texted him that she had business in town that coming weekend and she would be staying at Jasper’s motel by the highway. Maybe they could meet up, she offered casually.

Bellamy could not bring himself to respond.

He knew what ‘meeting up’ at a motel meant, and the thought of saying yes seemed just as daunting and impossible as saying no.

So long as it was harmless flirting, Bellamy could convince himself that it was of no consequence. But now that the offer was actually on the table, and the ball was in his court, he felt sick.

He liked Echo. He really did. She was absolutely gorgeous, but beyond that, she was also funny and fascinatingly knowledgeable about an eclectic array of intriguing interests—from classic cars to algae farms. She knew how to sword fight and survive in the forest. She was a skilled swimmer and loved True Crime a little too keenly. Those were all things he had learned in one evening of drinking with her. If one thing had become clear that night, it was that he felt intrigued by her. He enjoyed her company. With her, he felt unjudged. And he was undeniably, indubitably attracted to her.

But Bellamy hadn’t been intimate with anyone in years. He hadn’t let anyone get close to him since becoming this sick, shameful human being he never wanted people to see or meet. To protect himself, he had hidden from people, from love, from connection. At first, there had been meaningless encounters with strangers, and then even that had become too much. It felt as if random women he would never meet again could still somehow see him for what he truly was. A loser.

He’d been better, lately, sure. In the past couple of years, he had slowly grown in confidence, slowly started believing that he wasn’t a hopeless loser of a man after all. Maybe this was why he had even opened himself up to Echo at all, instead of shutting her down right away.

None of that made the prospect any less terrifying, however.

Hence, he slid the phone back in his pocket and avoided answering.

For days, he would refuse to pull up their conversation. He could not even make his mind as to what to say.

Yes? No? Sure? Too busy, can’t? See you then? Maybe next time?

He did not know. He just, did not know.

o0o0o

Miller and Jackson hosted a celebration for the Fourth of July, to which Madi and Clarke were invited of course.

The whole event consisted of eating senseless and drunkenly chatting with everyone. Bellamy spent most of it complaining that Jackson did not know how to properly man a grill, and if only he’d let him help…

Clarke covertly mocked his amusing stubbornness until he noticed and played the part of the offended friend, to make her feel guilty. It did not work.

At the end of the night, they enjoyed an amateur show of fireworks, which _had_ to be illegal for use in a backyard of a residential area like this one. Except, Miller was the police, so no one said a word.

Everything about the night was perfect in every way to Clarke.

o0o0o

“Where are you going anyway?” Madi asked casually, only half-interested as she simultaneously browsed social media on her phone.

Clarke, who had been reciting her list of reminders and instructions for Madi’s evening alone, paused abruptly, hand on the doorknob.

“I have a meeting in the city, as I said.”

Madi, lazily sprawled on the couch, raised her eyes from her phone to look up at Clarke’s neutral-but-chic dress and lipstick. “Hm. Okay.” And she returned her attention to her screen.

Clarke’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. She’d been lying to her daughter about her now regular escapades to the city, and while it had never sat well with her in the first place, the thought of telling the truth had seemed so much worse. What if Madi took it badly? What if she felt betrayed? Abandoned? Disgusted? The mere thought of any of these scenarios sent frightful shivers down her spine.

Today, as she was about to go meet Cillian for the nth time, Clarke couldn’t quite tell if Madi’s blasé demeanour meant she was onto her, or if this was just the teen blues talking. Either way, Clarke knew at that moment that she had enough.

She couldn’t keep sneaking out to meet her date in secret like a rebellious teenager. Clarke was not perfect, but she at least wanted to be a decent example of authenticity for her daughter. If not an example of healthy relationships. Whatever that even meant nowadays.

Hesitantly, and yet with atypical determination weirdly thrown in the mix, she made her way towards the couch and sat next to Madi’s sprawled body. The move elicited enough curiosity to spur the teenager to glance up towards Clarke.

“Honey, I have something to tell you.”

“You’re seeing someone.”

“I’m—hold on, what?”

Madi stared at her, deadpan, like this was the most obvious thing.

“I’m not an idiot, Clarke.”

“I know, but…” Clarke sighed. “I don’t know, I guess I was hoping you wouldn’t have to find out so soon.” Or ever.

Bracing for impact, Clarke patiently watched her daughter straighten up until she properly sat on the couch. The girl lowered her phone and left it on the nearest cushion. She was giving Clarke her undivided attention for once, and that alone should have been absolutely dreadful in itself. Except, Madi did not look angry, nor frustrated, or betrayed.

She looked at her with an undefined expression of forbearing understanding.

“I am not a kid anymore, Clarke.”

Clarke smiled sadly. “I know.”

“You don’t have to hide things from me. I’m old enough to understand.”

Clarke sighed once more. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Madi looked down at her fiddling fingers. “It’s okay. I know you didn't mean anything bad. I just wish you didn’t lie to me.”

Clarke inhaled slowly and painstakingly, then extended an arm to wrap around Madi’s shoulders.

“I know, I shouldn’t have. I think I was a little ashamed.”

Madi’s eyes narrowed in faint confusion. “Why?”

“Because." She inhaled shakily. "I think part of me feels like I’m betraying Lexa. And even though I know that’s silly, and she’d want us to live our lives to the fullest and be happy… I’m struggling to come to terms with it.”

“She’s been gone for nearly four years, now.” Madi spoke with a mellow warmth she rarely displayed these days, but which reminded Clarke of the early years of having her live with them. How Madi had been eerily wise for her age. Uncharacteristically patient and positive, in spite of her rough upbringing. She had been such a special child. And she still was.

Madi’s expression, in spite of her comment, said she understood. She didn’t find Clarke silly for feeling guilty. Time had made it easier to live their lives more freely. They no longer felt weighed down by the pain of loss at any moment of every day. But sometimes, accepting change remained a toilsome trial. Lexa was no longer there to tread down new paths and experience life by their side. They were all by themselves, and that was still weird to think about sometimes.

Clarke held Madi tighter against her side. “I know. I’m sorry I lied to you.”

“It’s fine.”

It didn’t sound like it was entirely fine, but Madi was giving her a free pass on the teen angst for one night. Clarke knew how much that meant, and appreciated it for what it was worth.

They stayed like this for a while, and it felt right. Madi rarely tolerated Clarke’s hugs and PDAs these days, which made the moment all the much more special. Clarke was getting ready to text Cillian to cancel, when Madi abruptly straightened and turned to face her.

“Well, you’ll be late for your date. You should go.”

Clarke eyed Madi carefully, watching for signs of discomfort or disappointment in her now more defined—and yet still youthful—features. She saw none.

“Are you sure?” she asked nonetheless. “I don’t have to go.” She liked the guy, but if he failed to pass the Madi test, he would be out of her life in the blink of an eye. No one was as important as Madi.

The latter, however, rolled her eyes, a faintly sarcastic smile gracing her lips. “ _Yes,_ ” she worded impatiently. “I need my alone time. So, go!”

Clarke looked at her pointedly, with an air of pretense offense, which truly veiled amusement. “I can call Bellamy, you know.”

“ _Oh my god,_ I’m fifteen, I don’t need a babysitter!”

Clarke left the house giggling, with a hefty weight only partly lifted off her chest.

o0o0o

Bellamy repeatedly raised his hand to knock. Each time, he let it drop to his side, defeated.

_Come on, Bellamy. You’re better than this._

He raised his hand again, and this time, rasped his knuckles against the wooden door.

Inside, he heard shuffling and feet grazing against carpeted floors. For the longest time, the door stayed shut, and he wondered if he’d gotten the room number wrong, if this was the wrong door.

Or worse—maybe he was getting denied. Maybe she was studying him through the magic eye and deciding she no longer wanted to see him. Rejected, after all of this.

Then, the door swung open. In the doorway stood Echo, hair cascading down her shoulders in her customarily effortless waves. A gentle yet chillingly knowing smile stretched her pulp lips.

“Hey,” she near-whispered in muted delight, leaning casually against the door frame.

“Hey.”

“You came.”

“Yeah.”

Bellamy felt out of breath. He could not tell if it was the nerves, the anticipation, the panic or the thrill of seeing her again, but he most certainly was feeling all of those things at once.

Echo’s smile stretched further, as if she could tell what was going on inside his head and found it endearingly amusing. In one swift move, she pushed herself off the door frame and stepped forward, entering his personal space with the kind of confidence Bellamy himself could not muster.

Frozen in place, he watched it all unfold—how she reached for his cheek and rested a warm palm against it. How she let her fingers seek the unruly locks of his hair around his face. How she let the tips of her fingers trail butterfly tickles down to his neck, nesting there as she drew closer.

Her lips were soft, which only made him more aware of how chapped his were. She did not seem to mind, as she caressed his lips with hers, before finally pressing against him more forcefully.

Like on instinct, he wrapped his arm around her frame, holding her close as one of his palms shot for the back of her head. He was barely aware of them stumbling inside.

The sound of the door closing behind them reverberated against the air of the night.


	11. A Couple of Carolina Chickadees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have passed the halfway mark.
> 
> Sometimes, when people say "it's all downhill from here," they can mean two things. They can mean it's going to get a whole lot worse, a whole lot faster. They can also mean that it'll be much easier and breezier from now on, the way you speed down hills on your bike in the summer.
> 
> And that's just the mystery of it.

“Well _you_ look like you’re in a good mood,” Clarke taunted with a deviant lilt to her voice.

Bellamy had been mowing both of their lawns all afternoon, and that seemed reason enough for anyone to act tired and grumpy. Yet there he was, whistling as he pushed the lawnmower back to where he usually stored it under Clarke’s porch.

At her comment, he looked up in puzzled surprise. “Huh?”

Clarke chuckled lightly. “You’re whistling. You never whistle.”

Bellamy frowned, dropping his gaze in solemn reflection, as if suddenly becoming aware of his own gleeful behaviour. Clarke could almost see him shiver in repugnance at the corny banality of it.

Clarke took advantage of the momentary confusion to pounce. “Is it about that mysterious woman I’ve been hearing about?”

Once again, Bellamy looked up in dazed shock. “What?”

Clarke smirked, pleased at her successful bait. “Madi may not be the most talkative human being these days, but even her sparse dinner-table conversation has brought me knowledge of the _femme fatale_ who’s graced your driveway with the infamous Chrysler Corvette.”

“It’s a Chevrolet Corvette.”

“Okay, that’s not the point and you know it.”

“And your point is?”

“Is Miss Universe the reason you are so joyously inclined on this beautiful sunny day?”

Bellamy gave her a sceptic look. “I _highly_ doubt Madi described Echo as either a ‘femme fatale’ or Miss Universe.”

“Legs for days, is the term I think she used.”

What Clarke purposely omitted was that Madi had also called Echo ‘25% pretentious and 85% annoying.’ Bellamy did not need to know that part. Also, Madi’s math skills were concerning.

Bellamy was fiddling nervously with his dirty gloved hands, like a cornered prey. He was visibly uncomfortable broaching the subject of the other woman with Clarke. Bellamy was not a man of many words, especially when it came to his own authentic feelings, but he and Clarke had grown close over the years. Barriers had fallen, artifices had grown unneeded.

Yet here was a barrier firmly erected between them at this time, and Clarke couldn’t quite tell why that was. Maybe, after years of carelessly braving the odds, she had finally done it—crossing the line.

She felt anxious to lighten the mood, all of a sudden.

“Lemonade?” she asked spuriously.

Bellamy seemed relieved by the diversion. “Sure.”

They sat out on her deck like they so often did and enjoyed the mid-July sun while they could. Seasons were fleeting and had a bad habit of changing in the blink of an eye. Before they knew it, the leaves would redden and meet their untimely death on the dried earth of the ground. They had to appreciate summer while it idled peacefully around them still.

In the biggest tree by Clarke’s deck hung Madi’s birdhouse, which had already welcomed its first couple of Carolina chickadees. Sometimes, Clarke could watch them flutter around from the peaceful comfort of her lawn chair. It brought small ounces of joy in her most draining moments.

Today, however, no activity could be seen around the birdhouse. Nature seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the tension to break between Clarke and Bellamy.

They sipped their beverages in silence for a while, before Clarke finally spoke up.

“I am sorry,” she said simply.

Bellamy looked up in surprise, his glass frozen at his lips as he appraised her. “Why?”

Clarke sighed, fighting the urge to look away. “For prying. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Bellamy frowned, lowering his glass mechanically. “No. No, _I_ am sorry for being weird. I’m just… not used to any of this... anymore.”

Any of this, in this case, apparently referred to all things romantic. Clarke was not sure when Bellamy’s last relationship had been. He had mentioned girlfriends, but most of them were from before his deployment. Clarke assumed he had been with women since, but none had been serious enough from what she could tell.

His unease was understandable. Clarke smiled sympathetically.

“Is Echo a nice girl?” she asked placidly.

Bellamy frowned a little deeper at the question. “I think so?”

Clarke smiled a little wider. “Then you have nothing to worry about. A wise man once told me that if the person doesn’t get where you’re coming from, then they’re not worth your time.”

Bellamy’s features loosened slowly, and a smile tugged lightly at his lips, recognizing his own words.

“Hm. That was a wise man indeed.”

“Alright, don’t push it.”

o0o0o

“I don’t like Echo.”

It was an excessively hot day of late July when Madi suddenly professed her sentence at the dinner table, when it was just her and Clarke. By then, Bellamy’s new romantic venture had become common knowledge within the man’s social circle. Taken aback by the sudden unwarranted comment, Clarke raised a curious eyebrow at her daughter.

“Why?”

Madi shrugged casually. “I don’t know. I just don’t.”

Clarke sighed patiently, and offered her daughter a tender smile. “You can’t just say you hate people for no reason.”

Madi rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say I ‘hate’ her, I said I don’t like her.”

“Oh, _pardon me_ my mistake.”

In spite of Clarke’s tame sarcasm, Madi seemed contemplative. She probed her mind for an answer to the question she had already rejected. She apparently came up with nothing.

She shrugged impatiently. “I don’t know. She just feels fake.”

Clarke wanted to ask what she meant, why she thought so. Madi was a teenager through and through, and she was not always the best judge of character, but Clarke liked to think she was sensible. Sometimes. If she bore negative feelings towards a person, there had to be a reason.

That being said, Clarke also knew from reading the room that she would earn no more valuable answers from her already irritated teenage daughter.

She thus settled for another patient smile.

“Well, we can’t help how we feel about people. But Bellamy has been through a lot, and he deserves to be happy. We don’t have to like Echo, but we do have to be happy for him.”

Madi huffed and remained silent for the rest of the meal.

o0o0o

“And how’s Cillian?” Bellamy asked clumsily, pulling gently on A.L.I.E.’s leash.

They had been doing this more, lately—taking walks just the two of them, with A.L.I.E. It was normally Madi’s responsibility, but the teenager had been a regular guest on the trips Charlotte’s family took in the summer. Clarke had seen no reason to deny her those experiences. Hence, when Madi was away, Clarke walked with A.L.I.E. Eventually, Bellamy started joining in, claiming it was too hot for his runs nowadays and walks would keep him active.

Years later, he still fervently claimed not to like the dog, allegedly deeming her annoying and obnoxious. Yet, whenever Clarke struggled to keep A.L.I.E. docile on her leash, Bellamy gently took it from her hands and kept the dog in tow with forbearing dominance. He was a natural, really. Ensconced in her endeared observation of Bellamy’s antics with A.L.I.E., Clarke almost forgot to answer his question.

When she snapped back to reality, she cleared her throat before responding awkwardly.

“He’s fine. I guess.”

Bellamy raised an interested eyebrow, while keeping a watchful eye on A.L.I.E. “You guess?”

Clarke inhaled audibly, and sighed deeply. “Yeah. I guess. I haven’t seen him in two weeks.”

“And you haven’t… talked at all?”

Clarke thought about it, before admitting, “Not in the last week. I mean, he texted, I forgot to reply.”

“Hm,” was the only sound Bellamy emitted in response.

Clarke scoffed at that. “What does that mean, ‘ _hm_ ’?”

Bellamy shrugged nonchalantly, innocently. “Nothing. It means ‘hm’.” His features painted a different picture, however.

Clarke wanted to protest, decry his disgracefully judgmental tone, but found she did not have the willpower to do it. She knew, deep down, that Bellamy was right. She had not introduced Cillian to Madi, and if she was honest with herself, she did not intend to. A part of her sensed it was inappropriate. She thought maybe it was still her guilt talking; maybe she was trying to sabotage a good thing again.

Another stronger part of her, however, sensed that she knew it wouldn’t last, and it wasn’t worth involving Madi into something so fleeting.

She sighed again, drawing Bellamy’s attention back to her. “I don’t know, I guess it’s not really serious between Cillian and me.”

Bellamy waited, in case she had more to add. When she did not, he gently argued. “You haven’t been seeing each other for very long.”

“I know. But I don’t think it’ll get much farther than it already has.”

Bellamy was hesitant to ask, but did nonetheless, tentatively. “Why?”

Clarke shrugged, grasping for words. “It’s… I don’t know. I like him, I really do. He’s a great guy. But sometimes I feel like he was there to serve a purpose. Like, he really helped me come to terms with the fact that I _can_ date people and love again, without it being unfair to Lexa. Or to Madi. For that, I’m immensely grateful.”

“But?”

“But I don’t think it’ll get more serious than what we have now.”

“It doesn’t _have_ to be serious.”

“No. But I think he wants it to be.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So, I guess I’ve been avoiding him a little. That’s a little immature, I know, but I don’t know how to handle these things anymore. It’s… stressful.” Bellamy nodded softly, and Clarke forced a smile onto her lips. She shook her head dismissively. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just overthinking all this.”

Bellamy did not offer a response, but he eyed her pensively for a second or two, as they leisurely made their way down the road. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but could not quite find the words. Maybe he wanted to give her advice, maybe he was thinking of telling her he understood.

Either way, he finally looked away and forward again. The moment was over.

o0o0o

Miller and Bellamy finally set the date for their annual fishing trip, to which only a select group of people were invited. As in previous years, it would be on a weekend of early August, when most people’s schedules allowed it.

In the very beginning, it had been a tradition for Pike, Bellamy and Miller only. After Pike’s passing, Bellamy and Miller had kept it up each year in the old man’s memory.

Over the years, it had grown into a slightly bigger affair. Murphy joined, and then Jackson. Octavia came sometimes too. Raven, from the Reyes repair shop, was also a good friend of Miller and Jackson; she joined in whenever she could. Clarke and Madi had received their first invitation the year prior, but had not been able to attend, as it had coincided with Marcus’s birthday party, to which Abby assigned a great amount of importance. This year, Abby and Marcus were celebrating the occasion more intimately in Mexico. Clarke and Madi’s agenda was thus cleared of any other obligation.

Clarke had never gone fishing. Neither had Madi, but the latter was much keener to learn and get her hands dirty. Bellamy helped them prepare the list of what they would need, and Clarke was already counting in her mind the dollars she would have to spend over this. As if sensing her concern, Bellamy offered to lend her most of the equipment they would need.

“It’s a little old and rusty, but it should still work.”

Clarke supposed she was thankful they hadn’t trashed those items in their triage sessions.

“Are you going to invite Echo?” she asked in a lightly cheerful tone one afternoon, as Bellamy scribbled down the remaining items Clarke would need to purchase.

The man looked up from his list with a frown, glancing at her the same way he would if she had blurted out something entirely silly and inadequate. “No,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s a trip between friends. It’s not something you bring a date to.”

Clarke countered, “Miller’s bringing Jackson.”

Bellamy shook his head dismissively. “That’s not the same. Jackson’s not just a date. He’s family.”

Sure, Jackson was a regular of those trips, but he clearly hadn’t always been. He had to have been the invited date once. Nevertheless, Clarke gave up trying to push the question. When Bellamy passed judgment over a particular matter, changing his mind was near impossible.

Hence, she changed the subject.

Kind of.

“So, have you been seeing a lot of your non-family date lately?”

Bellamy always seemed to tense up whenever Echo was brought up. It felt as if two worlds he desperately wanted to keep separate were merging against his will. Clarke could tell he was making an effort not to act weird about it. She knew it was a learning curve for him.

“I am meeting her for dinner in the city this Saturday.”

Clarke brightened up at that mention. “Ooh, nice! Where are you going?”

Bellamy stared intently at his list and shrugged. “Don’t know, she’s choosing the place.”

“Okay. And what are you going to wear?”

Bellamy glanced her way once more, confusion in his eye. Then, he looked down at the clothes he was wearing. When he met her gaze again, he seemed hesitant.

“I don’t know. This?” He waved at his current attire.

Clarke battled the horrified look that threatened to form on her face. If Bellamy’s slumped shoulders were any indication, she was not proving very successful.

“Okay,” she worded hesitantly. “I mean. I’m sure she likes you for you, but dressing up might be a nice gesture.”

Bellamy seemed thorn between irritation and insecurity at this point. “I don’t really own anything fancy,” he admitted apprehensively.

Clarke smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring. “That’s alright! We can fix that! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love your veteran chic aesthetic, it’s very you. But for a first date?”

“It’s not a first date.”

“Okay, well, we can’t fix what’s already past. That doesn’t mean you can’t surprise her now.”

“How?”

“We’re going shopping tomorrow night.”

Bellamy’s eyes instantly hardened. “No. I don’t shop.”

“Well, you will tomorrow.”

“No.”

“My shift ends at three at the clinic. I’ll pick you up at three-thirty.”

“I’m pretty sure I just said no.”

“It’ll be so much fun! Freshening up your wardrobe is so invigorating. You’ll see.”

“Am I speaking to a wall?”

“ _Oh my god_ , I haven’t shopped for men in forever, I am so excited!”

It dawned on Bellamy then that he would not get out of it.

He and Clarke were going shopping.

_Holy Hell._

o0o0o

Clarke picked Bellamy up at three-thirty, as promised. They drove to the city, and Clarke took them to a mall she knew well.

“This was always my go-to place as a student. It’s easily accessible, there’s lots of options, and it’s not crazy expensive. You’ll see, we’ll be out of here in no time.”

Bellamy was quite certain they didn’t have the same conception of _in no time_. Nonetheless, he grumbled in the affirmative and followed her out of the car. If the last years had taught him anything, it was that you didn’t say no to Clarke Griffin.

Clarke led the way through the thankfully not-too-crowded mall. She prospected their options, before finally settling on a store Bellamy had never set foot in. As she dived with determination into the sea of clothing racks, he stole a glance at a few tags along the way. He sighed in relief at the somewhat reasonable prices he glimpsed on them. Bankruptcy would be for another day.

Before he could understand anything that was going on, Clarke stuffed him into a dressing room at the back and started passing clothes through the curtain. Most of them looked normal, he felt relieved to notice. Mostly stuff he would wear, if he actually went shopping once in a while. Or at all. Most items, he probably never would have seen on the rack, but Clarke had an eye for it. She knew his style, and she knew what looked good on him.

Not that any of it reconciled him with the idea of shopping in the first place. It was with dreadful resignation that he tried the first few looks assembled by Clarke, shyly stepping out of the dressing room. There was hesitant shame written all over his face as he underwent Clarke’s careful assessment. He zoned out through most of her feedback, knowing he would buy whatever she said he should get. He drew the line at her asking him to walk around the dressing room area for her. This was _not_ turning into a Queer Eye episode.

Sometimes, she drew close to him, eyes intently focused on his clothes as she straightened them around his frame. She ran her hands across the length of his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles from the hanger, and pulled the cloth straighter down the expense of his chest. Then, she looked up to smile at him, satisfied with the result.

He couldn’t explain the heat burning on his cheeks in those moments. He assumed it was because he had not in a long while had a woman analyzing his physique from up close like this. Not in a non-sexual setting, at least. It was weirdly intimate, and yet strangely innocent. There were not many people he would let touch him like this. Clarke was not most people.

After a seemingly interminable series of date-friendly clothes to try on, he heard Clarke approach the closed curtain of his dressing room with what had to be even more clothes. He could not help the tired sigh, keeping it low enough that Clarke wouldn’t hear.

“Okay, so, I know you’re tired, but hear me out.” He saw the curtain rustle, and her arm appeared through the crack, holding out two sets of dark, formal two-button suits. “Miller and Jackson’s wedding is approaching, and I have seen the insides of your closet. I know you don’t own a suit that belongs to this century. Those are fairly inexpensive, and I know someone who could do alterations for you. If one of them fits, you could avoid having to come back in September. You’ll be set until next year. How does that sound?”

When she put it that way, it did sound good. Bellamy did not want to set foot in a store again at any point in the near future. He felt so tired, he could sleep for days.

Both suits were navy, with slightly different constructions. He tried them both and found them not overly uncomfortable. Clarke gushed over the second, assuring him he looked absolutely dashing. With a few touch-ups, the fit would be perfect. When Bellamy rushed back into the dressing room, it felt as if freedom was imminent. Clarke had brought their rejects back to the nearest shop assistant, and was then taking their final selection to the till. To the reasonably-sized pile, they would only have to add the suit, once he changed out of it.

As he slipped back into his own clothes, however, he no longer felt so light and relieved at the thought of leaving. All of a sudden, he felt heavy with inexplicable dread. It spread around his chest in effused bursts of discomfort.

Dressed, and with the suit now carefully hanging on a hook, Bellamy sat on the small bench of the dressing room, resting his elbows on his knees and wringing his fingers nervously. He tried to breathe as regularly and deeply as he could. He was not proving very successful.

He heard Clarke’s steps approach once more. “Bellamy?” she called softly.

When he failed to respond, she called again. Faced with silence, she carefully pulled the curtain open.

“Everything okay?” she asked gently, her hand hovering over the curtain still.

Bellamy nodded, but he could not stop wringing his hands. Without a word, Clarke stepped forward, closing the curtain behind her. She went to sit next to him. The bench was barely large enough to accommodate two adults, but Bellamy did not mind the pressure of Clarke’s shoulder against his. It helped, in a way.

“I haven’t gone shopping in years,” he admitted in a mutter. “It didn’t make sense, with the state of the house. To bring anything else in, I mean.”

Clarke nodded, resting a placid hand on his knee. He had not realized how he had been bouncing his leg until the warmth of her palm seeping through his jeans stabilized it.

“You know, it’s not a bad thing that you’re mindful of buying sparingly.”

She spoke in the soft, soothing tone she always used when his anxiety was through the roof. He did not think this was an anxiety moment, but maybe he would think differently once it was over. Hindsight and all. He definitely felt anxious, though, for a reason he failed to pinpoint. Again, he lacked hindsight, he supposed. Sometimes, it just happened.

Clarke continued talking softly. “Shopping to feel better is a whole other problem which you’re lucky not to have. But you shouldn’t forget that, in your case, healing doesn’t mean depriving yourself of the things you need. The point is to stop holding on to the past, and to open yourself to change. You’re allowed to bring change into your life, Bellamy. Especially when it makes you happy. It’s just that, sometimes, you have to let go of some things to welcome new ones. And that’s hard.”

Bellamy nodded slowly. It _was_ hard. Even though he sensed it didn't have to be.

He felt Clarke’s hand inch towards his. He looked up to meet her eyes and saw she was smiling gently, unthreateningly. He let her hold his hands comfortingly.

“We can leave if you want. We don’t have to buy anything.”

And Bellamy could tell that she meant it. She was not offering it to be nice while secretly hoping he would not reduce this whole trip to a pointless venture by having them leave empty-handed. All he had to do was say the word, and they would be out of here. No judgment.

That made him realize he did not want to leave. He did not want the trip to have been pointless. He did not want to move backward.

He squeezed Clarke’s hand and smiled weakly.

“Let’s go pay.”


	12. Private Sunsets and Giant Northern Pikes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sleep on average five hours a night. Ah, the good old normal days of a workin' gal.
> 
> Let's hope this chapter makes sense nonetheless.

The annual fishing trip was unlike anything Clarke had experienced as a city-girl, daughter-of-a-doctor, intellectual-nerdy kid.

The departure was set for Friday evening, and the return on Sunday night. Their accommodation proved to be the most country thing Clarke had ever seen—actual RVs. And not fancy modern motor homes. Oh no. Good old RVs hailing from the nineties, maybe the early two-thousands at best.

There were two vehicles at their disposition. Miller’s, which had apparently belonged to Pike back in the days, was the oldest, smallest and least appealing of the two. It housed a maximum of four people, and Clarke was relieved to find that its occupants had already been determined by tradition—Miller, Jackson, Murphy and Bellamy were to bunk together, like good old times.

The other RV was Raven’s. It was bigger and slightly more recent. It looked cleaner, and the amenities were more advanced. Once they got settled on their lot for the weekend, they would have electricity, running water, and all of the basics. Raven and her boyfriend Shaw would take the larger bed at the front, while Octavia and Lincoln used the smaller bed at the back by the bathroom. Meanwhile, Madi and Clarke were to share the futon couch in the living area in-between **.**

Emori stayed behind to watch over Raven’s shop while they were gone. She had insisted—she wasn’t a fan of camping or fishing anyway. She had graciously agreed to take A.L.I.E. for the weekend too, to Clarke’s relief. With six people in one motor home, no one needed a hyperactive ball of hair and drool to make the space feel even more cramped.

Clarke laughed when she learned that Bellamy and Murphy would share a bed in Miller’s RV. They would sleep on the table that turned into a bed, while Miller and Jackson slept on the actual bed. She couldn’t quite say why, but she thought the whole setup was hilarious.

They made it to the lake before sundown. They parked the RVs in the lot Miller now owned and went about preparing a late dinner for everybody. Shaw cooked vegetables in aluminum foil over the campfire, even though both RVs came with decently equipped kitchen areas. Raven pan-fried sausages in her RV, while Miller and Jackson made rice in theirs. Bellamy whipped up some chocolate pudding for dessert. The others provided help wherever needed—or in Murphy’s case, proved completely useless. They all gathered around the picnic table to enjoy their feast.

Then, they crowded around the campfire to roast marshmallows and tell raunchy stories that Madi missed entirely, too busy as she was killing mosquitoes with Raven’s electric swatter.

Around midnight, people started trickling back into their respective beds and futons, intent on getting some sleep before the early morning they had planned for the next day.

On their futon couch, Clarke wrapped a loving arm around Madi’s frame. The latter sighed audibly, but did not push her away.

o0o0o

Clarke woke up to Bellamy gently shaking her shoulder, a fuming mug of coffee in hand.

“Here. Most of us have already had breakfast and we’re going on the water, but you can leave with Raven on her boat later, if you want.”

Clarke blinked a few times, instinctively looking over her shoulder to find Madi’s side empty. She had been so tired, she had not heard a single thing. Now that she looked around, the whole RV seemed entirely deserted except for Bellamy and her. Her shifts at the clinic had been longer than usual lately, and she had pulled quite a bit of overtime. Gaia had unexpectedly quit without notice two weeks earlier, and they’d been scrambling to find a replacement. In the meantime, they were all a little overworked. Clarke supposed she had needed the sleep.

Bellamy held out the mug to her. She took it with a grateful smile, sitting up on the barely comfortable mattress. “What time is it?”

“Around eight.”

She nodded. It could have been much worse. She took a sip of her coffee and immediately flitted her eyes back to Bellamy in awed disbelief.

“Is there Bailey’s in there?”

“You better believe it.”

“ _God,_ you’re the best.”

o0o0o

Bellamy and Miller took Madi under their wing, taking her on their boat and teaching her the basics of fishing. From what Clarke could tell from the shore, the girl seemed quite good at it. Whenever Bellamy and Miller got into the “zone” of fishing in complete silence like the stereotypical old men that they were, Jackson seemed to take over the responsibility of keeping Madi entertained. Overall, she looked like she was having a great time.

She even seemed to be growing on Murphy, who dryly commented at lunch that “The girl knows how to shut up. I appreciate that.”

Raven snorted loudly from where she filleted the morning’s catch.

“What, were you afraid she’d scare away the fish?” she retorted amusedly. “Don’t worry, pretty sure your ugly face will do that for you anyway.”

Murphy flipped her the finger while Raven pretended not to see it.

Clarke also gave the whole fishing thing a try, at first. She got on Raven’s boat in the morning and tried following Octavia’s instructions, but she only managed to get her line caught on the other boat’s side. She threw in the towel early, and spent most of the afternoon lying on the beach with Lincoln—who was a vegetarian—and Shaw—who was ironically a skilled fisherman but did not really enjoy the pursuit. Shaw loved camping, though, and he regaled his audience of two with exciting tales of his adventures all over the world.

By the time the others rowed back to shore for dinner, she had heard all about Peru, Southern China, German Bavaria, and Canada.

This time, their feast consisted of white fish—grilled and fried—until their stomachs could not endure a single ounce more. Once again, they ate at the picnic table with animated chatter, and later laughed around the campfire. Everyone’s favourite story was how Madi had found every surreptitious way of getting Bellamy wet throughout the day, using her rod, a paddle or her hands to splash him whenever he looked away. It was a miracle they had not toppled over in the water at all, considering how many times Bellamy had been ignominiously startled by the prank.

Clarke laughed a little too hard at the story, promptly igniting Bellamy’s vengeful spirit. He scooped her up swiftly, as if she weighed nothing more than a bag of flour, and tried balancing her into the water, only giving in to her hysterical cries of horrified laughter as the waves washed over his feet and her head hung right above the waterline.

Further back, everyone watched passively, too amused to intervene. Clarke thought Octavia’s smile was particularly mysterious as they returned to the group, out of breath and giggling sparsely.

Exhausted from their day, everyone was in bed by eleven.

o0o0o

Clarke was once more awaken by Bellamy’s gentle hand on her shoulder.

She chastised herself for sleeping in once more and hazily wondered why it was so dark this time, until she realized Madi was still asleep next to her. She glanced around to find it was night out. She could hear Lincoln’s snoring coming from the back of the RV and Raven’s from the front.

“What?” she uttered, in a cross between a croak and a whisper.

Bellamy brought a finger to his lips to intimate silence. His eyes flitted to the sleeping figures around them before he whispered in response. “Come with me, I have something to show you.”

Clarke blinked a few more times, and felt the need to state the obvious. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know. That’s just the right time for it. Put on your shoes, I’ll wait outside.” And then, as an afterthought. “You can bring Madi if you like. I just thought, maybe you’d prefer she slept through the night.”

On those words, Bellamy quietly padded his way out of the RV, carefully opening and closing the door in skillful silence. Still barely awake, wondering if she was just dreaming, Clarke sighed and ran a hand over her face and hair. She looked over to Madi, who slept soundly next to her, undisturbed by the whole interaction. They had all had a long day, they were exhausted. Madi should get her sleep.

Clarke quietly slipped out of the covers and blindly looked for her shoes in the darkness. She grabbed the first item of clothing that felt like leggings and put clumsily them on. Once somewhat presentable, she quietly made her way to the outside world, closing the RV door carefully behind her.

In the night’s obscurity, with no fire to counter it, there was nothing but the moonlight reflecting over the lake’s peacefully still surface to illuminate their surroundings. Bellamy’s figure stood by the water, his back to her, and with his hands stuffed into his pockets. When he heard her footsteps approach in the sand behind him, he turned to smile at her.

“Ready?”

“I swear to God, Bellamy, if you’re throwing me in this water at fuck-knows-what-time-it-is, you’re a dead man.”

The man chuckled softly into the night. “We’re not going into the water.”

“Okay. Good.”

“There’s leeches in there. Wouldn’t be a great idea.”

Clarke inhaled slowly and deeply to control her pitch and avoid waking others. “ _What?_ How was this not said before? How did I not know of this? I went on a boat on a lake with _leeches?_ You tried to _throw me_ into a lake with leeches!?”

Bellamy chuckled once more. His smile was one of amusement, albeit not as derisive as Clarke would have expected. He deemed her fears silly, sure. But he also seemed to find them… strangely endearing. Why this was, Clarke could not fathom. She was too drowsy to try and make sense of it.

“There won’t be leeches where we’re going,” he said simply, before making his way towards the forest. He clearly expected her to follow.

She should have protested, refused to blindly head into a dark wooded path in the middle of the night. Instead, she followed, grumbling half-hearted complaints as they made their way up the hill.

That hill looked a lot more like a mountain, now that Clarke was hiking on it. The climb to the top was a long one, and she was drenched in sweat by the time they made it to the top. Her job required her to stay on her feet all day, but it was quite clear from her erratic breathing then that she was not in actual shape. Bellamy looked pretty sweaty too, but he appeared barely fazed by the exercise. Maybe he was onto something with his winter runs after all.

Having reached the sought-out plateau, Bellamy walked over to a large rock poking out of the ground and climbed it effortlessly. Then, turning to face her as she painfully recollected her breath—she was actually bent over with her hands on her knees, like a middle-aged woman at her company’s annual friendly-yet-overly-competitive baseball tournament—he held out a helping hand. Too tired to protest, she took the hand and let him pull her up.

“I used to come here before, with Miller and Pike,” he started explaining once they were both standing safely on top of the rock. He looked out into the distance as he spoke, and Clarke followed suit. The moonlight had dimmed, which indicated the sunrise was imminent. In the meantime, darkness was total, and only the vague silhouettes of mountains and trees could be made out in the scenery. “We’d spend entire weekends out here in the woods, shut off from the world. When things were bad at home, we’d bring Octavia too. There wasn’t much Pike could do to make things better there; he couldn’t play the parent role when our dads were long gone and our mom was out on a bender every other week. But he could take us here, to a safe place, where nothing else mattered. It was Octavia who found this spot first. She couldn’t sleep and went for a walk alone in the middle of the night, like the crazy fourteen-year-old that she was. When she came back, she wouldn’t even let us scold her; she was too excited about this great place she had just found. She took us there the next night. It’s been our place ever since. Miller doesn’t really like the walk up, though. And Octavia lost interest when it stopped feeling like a novel discovery. So it’s been mostly me.”

On the horizon, a faint line of squiggly illumination began tainting the sky. The sun was starting to rise behind the mountains, and Clarke watched in awe as the sky turned lighter shades of blue, and then pink, purple, and orange.

It was so ethereally beautiful. The kind of picture you would see in paintings and think, _that can’t be real._ It looked filtered, impossibly saturated with colours and awe-inspiring artistry. It reminded Clarke of her art, of her other life, of the paintings she could never get quite right and of those she kept at the back of a closet because she could never bring herself to get rid of them.

Clarke lost track of time. They both watched the scene unfold in awed silence. It was only as the sun’s blinding orb finally peaked over the mountains, much later, that Clarke finally spoke.

“Thank you,” she said plainly.

Bellamy turned a curious eye in her direction. She tore her eyes away from nature's canvas to meet his gaze.

“Thank you for showing me this,” she added. _Thank you for trusting me with this_ , was the implication.

Bellamy smiled lightly, conservatively, and yet with more authenticity than Clarke had ever seen him convey in one smile. The sight was one to behold. She could see his eyes zoning in on her as if she were the only person in the world, and for a second, the air was knocked out of her lungs. She had to catch her breath, or she would collapse.

Instinctively, as if it were the most natural thing, he wrapped an arm over her shoulders. And just as naturally, she let her head rest over his shoulder, for physical support as much as for the comfort of it.

They watched the peaceful scene in content silence, until the sun was up and their stomachs growled.

o0o0o

On their last day, Madi caught a gigantic Northern Pike that earned her the respect of all the fisherpeople of their group—Murphy included.

Raven showed her how to filet it, leaving fish guts and scales all over the picnic table. She then helped Madi pack it in Ziploc bags and store it in a cooler with ice, for them to bring home. Clarke was not a particularly skilled chef when it came to fish, but Bellamy said he would help. There was enough for the three of them anyway.

In the afternoon, they all soberly packed their belongings and made their way back home while the sun was still out.

o0o0o

On the way back, Madi insisted they drop her off at Charlotte’s, so she could boast about her exploits. She could borrow her friend’s old bike to get home later.

Raven left Clarke and Bellamy at the latter’s house, before heading off towards Octavia’s. When the motor home disappeared in the distance, Bellamy looked dubiously down at the cooler and pile of bags laying at Clarke’s feet.

“You need help?” he asked unimposingly.

Clarke rolled her sleeves around her elbows. “Nope. I’m stronger than I look. Go get some rest, because you have a delicious jackfish dish to cook for us tomorrow night.”

“I said I’d _help_.”

“You cook, we eat. It’s called collaboration. Now, if you don’t mind.”

Clarke piled up the bags on top of the cooler and lifted the whole thing at once. She made slow progress towards her yard, but the whole setup seemed somewhat stable enough. Bellamy watched her go with amusement.

When Clarke turned the corner towards her porch, she was too focused on her precariously balanced baggage to watch ahead. She failed to see the motorcycle parked against the side of the porch. She climbed the steps slowly and carefully. Only when she set her packages down on the front porch to look for her keys did she notice the man sitting on her deck.

In the snap of a finger, her blood curdled in her veins. In spite of the cap and hood covering his head, she caught a glimpse of the scar that traveled down his face in the same rough diagonal she remembered. His right eye was permanently shut and the scar ended its course into a chilling thunder-like strike across his left cheek. Even without seeing the scar, she would have recognized him anywhere—the shape of his shoulders, especially. He always held them straight, in spite of the fatigue denoted by the dark circle under his functioning left eye. He looked broken, empty, and yet appallingly in control, a smirk ineradicably tugging at his lips for no apparent reason.

“Hello, Clarke. You took long enough,” he commented matter-of-factly.

A shiver ran down Clarke’s spine. Years had passed, and he looked just as she remembered him. Wicked, unholy, and wrong.

“Sheid.” She spoke his name with as much composure as she could muster. At her right hip, her hand was beginning to shake treacherously. “You’re not welcome here. You know that.”

His smirk held on predatorily. “Don’t worry. I’m not here for you. I’m here for my daughter.”

“A bit late for that, don’t you think? You have no business being here. You signed the papers.”

“You mean the papers you and my sister made me sign under the influence?”

“You were high every day. It would have been hard to catch you on a day you weren’t.”

Sheid Heda, Madi's infamous biological father, was angry. And when Sheid was angry, he did not shout. His face did not redden, and he did not make a scene. Not right away, at least. Instead, he stared, and smirked. As if he knew he would get the upper hand in the end, like a predator rounding his prey, letting it tire itself out before he pounced.

Clarke’s heart started pounding in her chest when he rose from his seat and climbed down the deck steps. Slowly, he made his way towards the porch.

“Don’t get any closer,” she warned. “You have no right to be here. She’s not even here anyway.”

Clarke thanked all deities that Madi was at Charlotte’s. Some intangible being up there in heaven must have been watching over her after all. Whatever happened here would not put Madi at risk. That was one thing Clarke could feel grateful for, whichever way this ended up going.

Sheid was a violent man. Clarke could not say she knew him well, but she had heard of him aplenty. Lexa’s abusive, addict brother. Madi’s dangerous father. Lexa had told her of the time when, as children, he had held Lexa’s head underwater for two minutes, just to see if she could make it. She had been too scared to tell their mom about it and had kept silent about it.

Once, Lexa had found butterfly wings in a box in his room, in a neat pile next to desolate, wingless butterfly bodies. Before Madi moved in with them, Lexa cried at night sometimes, thinking of what her niece must go through under that man’s roof. Thankfully for Madi, and unfortunately for the poor wretched woman who had been her mother, the latter had been Sheid’s favoured punching bag whenever he was home—which, fortunately, had not been often. Madi claimed she couldn’t remember much of him. That was a relief in itself. Maybe, in his own twisted way, he had loved her enough to keep her out of his deranged bouts of madness.

Clarke heard he had earned his horrifying scar in a brutal street fight with a boisterous drug dealer who ended up in a coma at the hospital. Last she had heard, Sheid had been incarcerated over involuntary manslaughter in yet another drug-dealing mess. Clarke had slept better at night knowing he was behind bars.

Apparently, he was out now. How she hadn’t heard of this, she could not fathom.

Uncaring for her warning, he kept making towards her. Watching him draw closer with predacious ease, as if gliding over the lawn, all she could think was that Lexa would have known what to do. Lexa always knew what to do. Clarke never did.

Her phone was in one of her bag’s pockets, she did not remember which one. Her keys were all jumbled in her jeans’ pockets, she wouldn’t have time to find the right one and rush inside.

“I said, stay back!” This time, she spoke louder. Louder than she would have intended. Instead of sounding authoritative, she came off as wimpy and terrified—which she was. She swore internally at her weakness.

“Oh, come on, Clarke.” His tone was cool and composed, but all Clarke heard was the honeyed playfulness in his voice. “Don’t you see I am better, now? Sure, I have seen better days, but I am clean, now. I have a job. Don’t you think I have a right to see my daughter?”

His words alone denoted a man who tried to make amends, do better. Maybe her imagination was playing tricks on her, maybe he wasn’t toying with her, maybe he wasn’t smiling like a murdering psychopath incapable of empathy or remorse. Maybe she was twisting the situation to fit the narrative she had built in her mind for him.

She truly felt it wasn’t her imagination, though. His voice resonated as chillingly dissonant, with hints of barely veiled playfulness.

“I said, she’s not here,” Clarke repeated firmly. “Now leave.”

“Clarke, is that really how you want to play your cards? You're going to be _that_ controlling?”

Sheid was at the foot of the stairs, now. The same smirk adorned his lips as he set foot on the first step.

“I said, leave!” Clarke was no longer thinking rationally. She fumbled with her keys, trying to locate the right one. The move only spurred Sheid to climb faster.

She dropped her keys as he grabbed her wrist in an iron fist. He gripped tight, and it hurt.

“You have no right!” she repeated nonsensically at this point. “She’s not here.”

His grip only grew stronger. Clarke unwillingly wailed in pain. She heard Sheid’s faint chuckle, and she was then convinced without an ounce of a doubt that her night would end in a hospital emergency room. If not a morgue. At this point, it seemed like anything was possible. Her entire body shook with unrestrained dread.

The voice she heard next was not Sheid’s. It was another man’s, further away. A voice she knew well.

“The FUCK is going on here?”

Unsettled, Sheid turned to face the sudden intruder. The shift of his shoulder allowed Clarke to see Bellamy standing on the edge of the lawn. He looked angry, menacing. In his right hand hung a shotgun. He held it casually, pointing it to the ground, but there was no doubt in Clarke’s mind that he could change that relaxed setup in the blink of an eye.

If Sheid’s loosening of his grip was any indication, that fact was clear to him too.

“Hey man,” he voiced in a false air of friendliness. “This is none of your concern. Carry along.”

Bellamy’s eyes narrowed. “I think it _is_ my concern. You’re on my property, you see. I suggest you leave her alone and walk it off.”

Sheid let go of Clarke’s wrist, but made no move to leave. Instead, he rose two palms in a sign of peaceful reasoning. His face denoted no sign of fear, although he evidently tried to cover up the jarring hints of his annoyance.

“Alright, sorry for disturbing you, mate. I am just here to see my daughter. I don’t want any trouble.”

Unfazed, Bellamy countered, “I know no daughter of yours who lives here, _mate_. So how about you get on your way?”

Sheid chuckled haughtily and started climbing down the porch steps. He made to walk towards Bellamy, but the latter tightened his grip on his gun. Sheid nodded in forced resignation.

“Alright. I hear you. I’m going.”

He swerved to his motorcycle instead. He hopped on effortlessly in spite of his emaciated frame. With one truly heinous glance towards Clarke, he started the engine and left.

Clarke was barely aware of Bellamy walking over to where she stood frozen on the porch. She did not see him lay the gun on the ground, and did not hear him ask if she was okay.

Only when his arms wrapped around her shoulders did she crumble, the tears spilling out profusely as she shook uncontrollably. She vaguely heard his voice whispering reassuring phrases into her ear. She felt his fingers massaging the nape of her neck and his lips kissing her hair.

Eventually, she let him lead her inside.


	13. Reeling Cars in the Night Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My body was no longer used to 40-hour weeks. I got sick and it's been quite the week.
> 
> I am almost finished with Chapter 21. Chapter 22 will be the Epilogue.  
> We're getting there.
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy Chapter 13.

“I have only met Sheid twice before, you know.”

Clarke’s voice was partially muted, distant in spite of Bellamy’s proximity. She cleared her throat before continuing with more self-assurance. “Or, well, three times, now. Everything I know about him, I’ve known from stories. Bad stories, mostly. I think… I think I overreacted. I saw him on my deck, and I panicked, and I had all these scary scenarios flash through my head. I freaked out. I instantly thought he was threatening me, coming at me, but now that I’m looking back… I don’t know anymore.” Clarke closed her eyes, wincing at the sensation of a headache forming. “I am sorry you had to get mixed up in this.”

Bellamy, sitting by her side on the couch, squeezed the hand he had let rest casually on her shoulder. She let the muscles of her shoulder relax slightly under the touch, as she absentmindedly nursed the cup of tea he had prepared for her.

It was dark out, now. The room was faintly illuminated by the seashell lamp by the couch. Some horrific decorative piece Abby had gotten her and Lexa as a housewarming present years ago. It felt like an entire lifetime ago, now.

Next to her, Bellamy smiled comfortingly. There was no judgment, no strife, no distaste in his eyes or voice. His tone was assuring, unwavering, and most of all doting. “I don’t think you overreacted,” he claimed confidently, yet softly enough to match the quietude of the late-night atmosphere. “The guy looked scary alright.”

Clarke tilted her head to the left, and then to the right, weighing his answer. “Well, he’s not winning Mr. Congeniality prizes any time soon, but I don’t think he would have actually attacked me.”

“I’m still glad we didn’t wait to find out.”

Clarke looked like she wanted to smile at that, but couldn’t. Instead, she met Bellamy’s eyes and held his glance with more meaning than words could have possibly conveyed.

Then, her features drooped alongside her shoulders, weighed down by more apprehension than a twenty-nine-year-old woman should ever have to bear.

“He wanted to see Madi,” she spoke weakly, staring into the dark hues of her tea.

“So I heard.”

“That scared me.”

“With reason.”

What should have reassured her, reaffirmed her beliefs, instead spurred her to glance up at Bellamy again, this time with raw, untamed fright. Her fear could not be kept under wraps anymore. It was out, and it was profuse.

“What if… What if he’s right? Maybe he does have a right to see her.”

“Legally, I don’t think he does.”

“I’m not talking about what’s legal. I’m talking about what’s right. Shouldn’t a father be allowed to see his daughter? Don’t you think Madi will want to see him one day? To talk, ask questions, understand? She doesn’t remember much of him, and I’m afraid she’ll resent me if I’m the one to keep that from her.”

Bellamy waited a beat before attempting an answer. He was no expert on the matter, and he did not have children of his own, but he knew Madi and Clarke. He knew them well, better than he knew most people. He thought that might be worth something.

“From what you’ve told me,” he articulated carefully, “he hasn’t been much of a father for Madi. Ever. God knows where he’s been these last seven years. Why now? Why should he be owed anything _now_?”

Clarke nodded slowly and repeatedly, but did not appear convinced.

“I don’t want Madi to see him,” she admitted, voice cracking. “The thought makes me sick. I just can’t bring myself to consider it. Sometimes, I’m afraid that makes me selfish.”

Bellamy huffed, out of gripping instinct more than calculated response. He looked Clarke pointedly in the eye as he affirmed, “You, Clarke, are the least selfish person I know. Protecting your daughter from an abusive man is not selfish. It’s common sense.”

Clarke looked a little more convinced, maybe. She let her head drop to where she knew it fit perfectly, in the nook of Bellamy’s shoulder. The latter wrapped an arm around her frame, and they stayed like this for an undetermined amount of time, losing track of the minutes passing them by.

Eventually, the muted rushing sound of the exterior door being pulled open was heard alongside the clicking noise of a key turning in the lock.

Madi walked into a scene she would not have expected to find in her living room at eleven at night on a Sunday. Bellamy and Clarke sat in frozen silence, manifestly having been there for an unnaturally long time. The lights were dim, and Clarke’s unsipped tea was now cold.

The girl stood in the doorway with a puzzled frown, a clueless A.L.I.E. in tow. Apparently, she had stopped by Emori’s on the way home.

“What’s wrong?” she asked cautiously.

Clarke straightened up on the sofa, raising her head off Bellamy’s shoulder. She strained her face to attempt a warm, unthreatening smile for her daughter. Madi’s unwavering frown implied it failed to convince.

Clarke gestured towards the space next to her on the couch.

“Come sit, Madi. We have to talk.”

o0o0o

Madi was firm—she did not want anything to do with her father. She did not want to see him, talk to him, acknowledge him. The unwavering nature of her tone was surprising to Clarke, who had always understood Madi to bear mere distant memories of the man, but she had to admit—she was relieved to hear it.

Bellamy said he would talk to Miller in the morning, for advice on getting a restraining order. Clarke thanked him with a soft squeeze of his hand. He nodded awkwardly in response to her gratitude, but did not pull his hand away.

That night, a rumbling storm stroke upon their town, thunder shaking the structure of their house in the small hours of the night. A.L.I.E.’s frightened wailing could be heard intermittently from the living room, where she obediently stayed in her bed in spite of the fear.

Clarke could not sleep either. She watched the hours roll by on her nightstand clock. At two twenty-five, following a resounding thunderclap that drowned the entire house in a crashing wave of blinding light for an abrupt second, she heard mute footsteps padding across the house, gradually and hesitantly drawing nearer to the master bedroom. There was a pause, right by the door, and then a tentative knock.

“I am awake, Madi,” Clarke uttered as a simple invitation.

The girl slipped into the room quietly, and without a word, sneaked under the covers next to Clarke. The latter wrapped an arm around her, and Madi let herself be held without protest.

At some point in the morning, Clarke fell asleep. The last time she remembered looking at the clock, it read four thirteen.

o0o0o

Echo looked amazing. She always did, effortlessly so.

“I’ve missed you,” she breathed into Bellamy’s shoulder, her fingers tapping soft, nondescript patters onto the naked skin of his chest and arms.

Bellamy smiled in response, only meeting her eyes for a quick beat, before returning his eyes to the ceiling of the motel they so often met in. It was a weeknight, and Echo had a family to meet in town in the morning. Bellamy had lost count of how many impromptu dates they had had like this, in this very motel.

“Maybe,” Echo continued, only pausing for a swift kiss to his shoulder, “next time, you can visit me in the city.” She kissed his chest. “I have a nice house, you know.” His neck. “I’d like for you to see it.”

When she propped herself up to meet his eyes once more, he offered a studied smile.

“Yeah, maybe.”

He kissed her forehead. She smiled back.

He did not miss the disappointment weighing down on her lips as she lowered her head back onto his chest.

o0o0o

Madi looked distracted, on that Wednesday morning of mid-August as they worked together on Diyoza’s Jaguar E-Type. This was not the first time Madi had seen that car in Bellamy’s driveway over the years, but it was the first time Bellamy actually let her get her hands dirty rather than having her be a learning auditor around it.

Madi knew what she was doing—she had listened to his explanations and instructions, and it showed—but her mind was manifestly elsewhere. Bellamy considered asking her about it, but ultimately decided against it. He knew Madi well enough to know she only shared what she wanted to share, and always on her own terms.

In the end, he was saved the responsibility of making the first move. When they sat with glasses of fresh lemonade on Bellamy’s deck for a well-deserved break, she swirled the ice cubes around her glass for a while, before finally speaking up.

“I wanted to thank you,” she muttered hesitantly, eyes strained on her sweaty glass.

Bellamy frowned lightly. “What for?”

Madi breathed in at a calculated slow pace, as if to stall. “For getting us that restraining order.”

Bellamy tilted his head lightly, sizing her up with pensive eyes. “I didn’t really do that. Miller gave Clarke the paperwork, she did the rest. It’s being processed, it should go through soon enough.” His tone was dismissive, but also reassuring. He sensed more nerves in her demeanour than he would have anticipated. She had seemed so unfazed by the whole situation on the night of her dad’s sudden reappearance. Maybe a little shocked, and also indignant at the mere implication that she might want to see him. But seeing her so anxious over this matter was a new occurrence. “He won’t come again,” he added for good measure.

Madi nodded distractedly. “I know.” Her air of confidence from the other night was nowhere to be seen. She sounded hesitant, vacillating in her appearance of strength.

Bellamy leaned forward slightly in his chair, eyeing her intently.

“Is everything okay, Madi?”

She hesitated, and then, without lifting her eyes from her twirling lemonade, she asked, “Can I tell you something?”

Bellamy rested his elbows on his knees, making himself comfortable. “Always,” he said simply.

The warm breeze rushed peacefully in the distance, occupying the silence between them. Then, she dived in.

“Clarke thinks I don’t remember my dad. But I do.”

Bellamy could not help raising his eyebrows in subdued surprise, but he kept silent. There was more, he did not want to rush her. He knew the best thing he could do was listen.

She exhaled, and added, “I remember him, and I’m… I’m scared. I don’t want him to come back.”

Bellamy was afraid to ask, but sensed he had to.

“Did… did he ever do anything to you?”

Madi shook her head faintly, tightening her lips to keep in the emotion. “No, not really. But I remember him coming home, from time to time. He would disappear for months on end, and it wasn’t great at home when he wasn’t there, but it was still so much better without him. When he came home, he was drunk, or high, or just angry. He would yell at my mom, beat her up in front of me. Then, later, he would talk to me softly, smile at me, as if nothing wrong had just happened. My mom was right there, barely conscious behind him, and he would pretend she wasn’t even there. He’d tell me things… I don’t really remember what they were, but I think he was basically telling me not to become a slut like mom, because that’s what happened to wretched women like her.”

“God,” Bellamy muttered in horrified shock.

Madi swiftly wiped a tear off her cheek, pretending to scratch an invisible itch.

“Anyway. I don’t remember much besides that, but it’s the image I’ve kept of him. I don’t remember much of my home life before Clarke and Lexa, not necessarily because I was too young, but rather because my brain’s kind of shut it out. I guess it just mostly sucked. Auntie Lexa and Auntie Clarke were my favourite people in the whole world then. I didn’t see them often, but they were the brightest, nicest people I knew. When I moved in with them, I don’t think I even questioned it. I didn’t fully grasp what was going on, but I knew I wanted to live with them. Sure, they were a little anal about chores and rules, I wasn’t used to that. But in the end, I was happy in their house. I felt safe there.”

She paused to take a sip of her lemonade. Bellamy remained silent, watching her lower the glass before she resolved to continue.

“Since Lexa died… I’ve been having nightmares. Clarke knows I have them, but she doesn’t know I dream about him.”

“Why don’t you tell her?”

“Because. She’s been through a lot. I don’t want her to worry.”

“You’ve been through a lot, too. Not just Clarke.”

“I know. It just… it didn’t seem fair to put that on her. And I guess… I don’t know, it’s stupid, but I guess I was afraid to lose her too. Like, sometimes I thought it was my fault Lexa died.”

Glimpses of moments past flashed through Bellamy’s memory. There was that time last year when Madi had a panic attack in Bellamy’s workshop, seemingly out of nowhere, and she made him promise not to tell Clarke about it. Or that time six months ago when she and Clarke had a huge fight and Madi came over to blow off some steam with Bellamy’s mechanical saw. It had been something Clarke had said, about Madi being too young to understand, and it had escalated from there. Madi had later apologized, they had reconciled. Bellamy hadn’t appreciated the implications then, relegating it to some mother-daughter thing he could not pretend to understand.

He thought he understood now. And he realized he had unconsciously contributed to the problem. He had enabled Madi in her denial and isolation.

And he was supposed to be the grown-up.

“Madi, that wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

“And Clarke would _never_ leave you.”

“I know. I know, it’s… it’s stupid.”

Bellamy straightened up in his chair at that comment. He reached for Madi’s arm, encouraging her to look at him before he said, “It’s not stupid.”

She smiled weakly.

Still, he added, “And I think you can tell Clarke anything. Just because you’re strong doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

Had anyone else uttered those words, Madi would have rolled her eyes, or politely smiled in response. They sounded like the kind of buzzwords people said because they sounded right, even though they were truly empty and meaningless.

Coming from Bellamy, however, they sounded different. They weren't empty. She knew he understood. And she knew he was right.

She wanted to say thank you. She did not know how.

Instead, she chuckled spuriously.

“Alright, enough mushy talk. That car won’t fix itself.”

Bellamy’s knowing smile said he understood nonetheless.

o0o0o

“I can’t believe school is starting again soon.”

“Tell me about it,” Harper sighed in overt relief. “I can’t wait for Jordan to get out of the house every weekday.”

Clarke chuckled at the woman’s unabashed criticism of her son. Harper’s relationship with her child was an undeniably loving one, but that was where the resemblance with Clarke and Madi’s relationship stopped. In the Green family, Monty was the good cop, Harper was the don’t-mess-with-me-I’ve-pushed-you-out-of-my-body-so-you-owe-me cop. It was entertaining to see, to say the least.

She had no shame in dropping such comments within Jordan’s earshot, but today, he was not around to hear it. Charlotte, Madi and Jordan were at the pool, taking advantage of their last weeks of summer vacation to partake in as many leisure activities as possible.

Meanwhile, Clarke and Harper sat out on the latter’s deck. Harper and Monty’s house was a nice one. They lived closer to the center of town, in a neighbourhood where none of the houses were mobile. Many came with pools, and fences, and dreadful mortgages. Maybe, if Clarke continued setting money aside for the next few years, she would be able to afford a house around here. She made decent money as a nurse, but as a young single mother with crippling student debt, big expenses required careful planning.

Anyhow, she had grown attached to their unimpressive mobile home in their remote, quieter neighbourhood. She didn’t see the point of leaving just yet.

Monty emerged from the house then, carrying a platter with drinks.

“Please tell me there’s alcohol in those,” Harper warned with a pointed finger.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Monty retorted, handing a drink to Clarke.

“That’s my man!” Harper called with a pleased grin. She took the drink Monty handed her, and endearingly watched him join them in the sun.

Monty’s drinks were strong, and Clarke was glad she did not have to drive at any point in the next few hours. She supposed she could always call Bellamy for a ride later, but she would rather not reveal that she was getting tipsy in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday.

Just as she was thinking she might need a glass of water, Harper threw her a glance that foretold nothing good.

“So,” she drawled knowingly, “how’s that guy. What’s his face… Kaleb?”

“Cillian.”

“Right. How’s Cillian?” The eyebrow wiggle that accompanied the question only made Clarke even more uncomfortable than she already was.

She usually did not talk about Cillian to people, but she had mentioned him to Harper. She felt she owed it to her, what with Harper having provided the initial advice.

She felt uncomfortable, though, not merely because this was a personal matter, but also because she was not proud of what she was about to say.

“I don’t know. We haven’t really talked lately.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he texted a while ago, I didn’t respond.”

Monty had been pretending to pay more attention to the landscape than to their conversation, but at that moment, both Harper and Monty stared at her with indescribable expressions. Clarke could feel shivers of dread running down her spine.

Then, Harper chuckled in disbelief.

“Oh my god, you ghosted him?”

Clarke frowned. “What? No.”

“How long ago did he last text?”

“I don’t know. Last week?” Maybe two weeks ago, actually.

“And when did _you_ last respond?”

Clarke had to stop and think about it. She answered hesitantly. “Three weeks? And a half?” Maybe it was four, now that she thought about it.

Harper giggled in amused disbelief. “That’s it. You ghosted him.”

“What? I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re a lot more up-to-date with modern dating than I’ve taken you for. I have to say, I’m kinda proud.”

“That’s not… That’s not what this is.” Clarke defended herself with very little conviction.

She had meant to respond, she really had. But then, there had been that fishing trip with poor signal, and then Sheid showing up, the paperwork Miller had given her. She had forgotten, but she had meant to respond at some point. It wasn’t like they were in a serious relationship or anything.

“Do you think I should respond now?” she asked timidly.

“No!” Harper and Monty replied in unison. “God, no,” Harper added. “Poor guy, let him lick his wounds and move on. If you wanted to keep seeing him, you’d have replied already.”

Clarke supposed she had a point.

She hadn’t meant to go off the grid. She supposed that, in the end, she really was not wired for serious dating. She hoped Cillian would find a better human than the utter mess of a person that she was.

Clarke sighed, closing her eyes to better absorb the warm sunlight.

“I hope Madi doesn’t take after me in matters of the heart,” she said sheepishly.

“Gee, I sure hope so, because Jordan’s got an eye on that girl and she better not break my boy’s heart. I love you Clarke, but I will kick your daughter’s ass if she hurts him.”

“Honestly? The sentiment is mutual. Jordan better watch himself.”

“Good to hear.”

And the conversation was left at that, with Monty eyeing in puzzlement the two women now peacefully enjoying the summer sun after such sudden threats.

_Women_ , sometimes.

o0o0o

That night, as nocturnal quietude overtook the house, two cars could be heard reeling carelessly in the distance. The angry engine sounds resonated in the night with anxious echo.

Clarke heard footsteps outside her door again, but did not have to call Madi in this time. Her daughter walked in on tiptoes and made her way to the bed in careful silence.

It reminded Clarke of Madi as a kid, when she used to sneak into her and Lexa’s bed every time she had a nightmare. She would slide between the two of them and fall asleep into both of their arms, with Clarke’s thumb reassuringly stroking her elbow, and Lexa’s fingers gently rummaging through the girl’s wild dark locks. Clarke remembered how safe it had all felt. Like nothing could touch them, so long as they had each other.

Clarke and Madi were different people now, bullied into maturity by loss and change. Yet, as Clarke held Madi in the warmth of her comforter, she could pretend they were still the same carefree family of five years ago. That they were safe, and nothing could touch them.

Clarke was nearly asleep when Madi’s whisper pulled her back to reality.

“I don’t want to see my dad, Clarke.” She breathed in slowly. “He was a bad man. But also, he was never a dad. And my mom was never a mom. You’re the only mom I have and need.”

And that was all Madi said that night. Clarke listened to the girl’s now more even breathing, too shocked to respond.

After a while, she kissed the girl’s shoulder, held her close, and tried going back to sleep.


	14. The Shadow of the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet."
> 
> ... Enjoy the chapter! -angel emoji-
> 
> (Trigger warning: mention of a car crash in this chapter.)

Madi and Bellamy had one last project for the summer.

Madi had mentioned countless times how annoying it was to find her bike all wet after a stormy night, and Clarke had complained once or twice about the spiders that established residence on their lawnmower due to it getting stored under the deck. Hence the idea to build a shed at the back of their lawn, for storage purposes. Heck, maybe Madi could even use it as a working space for some of her personal projects—although Bellamy did not say that part too loudly. He did not want her deserting his workshop all of a sudden. The school year was just about to start, but they could finish up on weeknights and weekends. They would have a shed before the weather turned and autumn swooped in.

Clarke sat out on the deck and watched them work, fully aware of her lack of valuable skills in this context. She cheered them on and brought out drinks when needed. That, she could do.

On the last day of the summer break, Madi escaped early to hang out with Charlotte and Jordan, even though their trio would soon spend every weekday trapped together within the confines of their yearly prison, also known as their high school. They apparently _had_ to get ice cream in town on their last night of freedom. Since the shed was basically Madi's project and Bellamy was in no way inclined to advance it without her, he joined Clarke on the deck instead, stealing a few sips of her drink when she refused to get him one.

“I brought you something,” he said casually, digging into the workbag he had carried with him on his way here, a few hours prior.

Out of it, he pulled a book. The cover was white with hues of dirty greys. The image depicted what looked like a foggy night, with a lamppost emerging from the mist and hauntingly smudged silhouettes in the distance. The effect was mysterious and eerily fascinating. She caught a glimpse of the title as Bellamy extended the book out to her. _The Shadow of the Wind,_ by Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

She looked up at Bellamy before asking, “For Madi?”

His face remained neutral as he replied, “No. For you.”

Clarke could not hide her surprise as she pulled the book out of his hands. She flipped it around to glimpse at the synopsis, absentmindedly tracing the words with the tips of her fingers.

As if uncomfortable with her silence, Bellamy started justifying the offering.

“You mentioned wanting to visit Barcelona once, but never having the chance. And I know reading a book about the place isn’t the same, but… I don’t know, reading it made me think of you.”

Upon hearing the confession, Clarke’s eyes flitted back to the now shy-looking man.

In spite of his significant progress over the years, Bellamy rarely spoke so authentically in such casual situations as this one. They had reached multiple milestones since their first encounter—the sarcasm milestone, the asking-for-help milestone, and of course, the talking-about-matters-of-the-heart milestone. And yet, there was an aura to his words here and now, which felt different from any of those previously-crossed barriers. It carried implications Clarke could not elucidate. It was like staring at a safe lock, understanding the theoretical mechanism of opening it, but not having the combination to actually unlock it. 

Even more uncomfortable under her stare, Bellamy shrugged in a vague attempt at feigning casual nonchalance.

“You don’t have to read it, though.”

“No.” Clarke’s response was a little too sudden. “No, I want to read it. It looks… really intriguing.”

Bellamy nodded awkwardly. “It is.”

Bellamy had given Clarke plenty of book recommendations over the years. Most of which, she had actually hunted down and read. She always enjoyed finding out what he liked to read in his free time. Each time, she tried to figure out what it was about this particular book that had caught Bellamy’s attention. This bookworm side of him felt like a whole other realm of his persona, one which she only got privy to on scarce special occasions. His reading suggestions were like clues hinting at the most private facets of his personality. Considering that his favourite genres were mystery and horror, Clarke supposed that should have been cause for concern. 

It had become a habit of his to lend books to Madi once in a while. It was the first time, however, that he lent Clarke a book directly. Somehow, that felt important.

Clarke lowered the book to her lap and smiled. Bellamy smiled back hesitantly, but genuinely.

The moment was over rapidly, as A.L.I.E emerged from the bushes, frantically weeping as porcupine needles stuck out from her left front paw.

The two adults calmly carried the frightened hound inside and wordlessly settled into teamwork, with Clarke holding the dog still while Bellamy obligingly pulled the needles out.

This was not their first rodeo.

o0o0o

It was mid-evening on Tuesday night when Echo turned up on Bellamy’s doorstep, unannounced and seemingly expectant.

“Um. Hello?” Bellamy greeted her with a poorly veiled frown of disconcertment.

“Hey,” Echo responded with a smile, leaning in for a peck on the lips. “I was in town for work. I thought I’d drop by and say hello.” In the air hung the words she did not say, hidden behind her good-natured smile. _Since you didn’t text back._

“Oh, yeah,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly, stepping out onto the porch to close the door behind him. “Sorry I didn’t reply to your text this afternoon, I was really busy.”

“It’s okay, I figured.” She brushed it off with a detached wave of the hand. “I just wanted to see you. I missed you.”

She kissed him again, this time lingering against his lips, letting her fingers rummage against the fabric of his shirt. She gripped the cloth on each side of his chest, and instinctively, Bellamy wrapped his arms around her as he kissed back.

He was tense, though, and even she could tell.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, pulling back slightly. She tenderly brushed locks of hair off his face as he she eyed him carefully.

Bellamy felt guilt riddle his insides. Echo was great. Echo cared, she was patient, and she never judged. She was the first woman he was seeing in a very long while, and she made every effort to respect his pace and antics. She deserved the world, and he wasn’t treating her right.

He smiled as authentically as he could, holding the embrace. “I’m fine. It’s just been a stressful day.”

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked kindly, running the tips of her fingers against his chest.

He shook his head lightly, keeping the smile on. “No. It’s all good now.”

Echo nodded acceptingly, and stepped back to pull open the bag that hung on her shoulder. Out of it she pulled a bottle of red wine and two plastic glasses. “I brought something to drink. If you want to share.”

Bellamy huffed in amused endearment. “Sounds like a great plan.”

He made to lead the way down the porch steps and towards the fire pit, when her voice halted his movement.

“Wouldn’t you rather we go inside?” When he turned to her with a puzzled expression, she aimed at her naked arms. “It’s a bit chilly outside.”

Understanding bloomed on Bellamy’s face, and his expression drooped instantly. He lowered his eyes in shame before he even uttered his response.

“Echo…” he struggled to find the words, the right way to say it. Echo knew his house was an issue, she knew he didn’t like having people in. He hadn’t expected her to ask, but then again, they had been seeing each other for months. He supposed there came a time when normal people expected things to progress. It had been a long time since he had qualified as 'normal.' All he could say then, with a tone of lame defeat, was “I can’t.”

Echo’s lips tightened in a much-reduced version of her initial smile. Emotion flashed across her face before she regained her composure. “It’s alright,” she said sweetly, following him down the porch steps.

“I can lend you a shirt,” he offered weakly.

“No, it’s fine.”

She smiled as she made her way to the fire pit.

Once more, Bellamy did not miss the disappointment oozing off her entire demeanour.

o0o0o

On the day of the court hearing for Clarke's restraining order request, Bellamy drove Clarke to the city, while Madi stayed over at Charlotte’s.

Clarke’s right knee would not stop shaking on the way, and Bellamy pulled every trick up his sleeve to distract her, from mindless small talk to blasting happy music. It was only when his shuffle maneuvers landed on The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can Get No) Satisfaction” that Clarke seemed to momentarily forget her concerns, bobbing her head in rhythm to the beat, singing the lyrics increasingly loud until she air-guitared her way through the song, likely spurred by Bellamy’s frenzied snickering.

He categorically denied her pleas for him to join in. She poked his sides as he complained that she was distracting him from the road. He finally surprised her by joining in for the last few verses, blurting out the highest notes she had ever heard coming out of his mouth. It left the both of them in a hysterical fit of hilarity.

At court, Sheid was a no-show, which meant Clarke’s request was automatically granted.

On the steps outside, Clarke pulled Bellamy into a sudden hug, which he immediately responded to by holding her with familiar ease.

“I am so glad you’re in my life,” she whispered with emotion against his chest.

In response, he tightened his grip around her. As if to mean, _Me too._

She understood.

o0o0o

The following Saturday, Madi and Bellamy worked on the shed until late into the night. The sun had set, the crickets had initiated their nocturnal orchestra, and even Clarke had retired to her room inside.

As they packed their tools to call it a night, Madi suddenly burst into frantic shaking and twirling, keeping it up for a few seconds before she finally stopped. When she did, she let out a series of swear words Bellamy had never heard her produce before. Not in front of him, that was.

When she rested a more composed glance on his bewildered face, she rolled her eyes at him, as if he had been the weird one in this situation. “There was a bug in my hair. One of those ugly night butterflies.”

Bellamy raised one single eyebrow, pointedly taunting.

“You mean a moth?”

“Yeah. Those.”

Bellamy fought very hard against the smile or chuckle that threatened to cross his lips, knowing it would offend the teenager.

“Hm. A moth in your hair. Sounds scary, yeah.”

Madi sighed impatiently. “What? They’re gross! They’re like the ugly duckling, except they never turn into pretty butterflies at the end of the story.”

Bellamy rubbed his stubbled jaw pensively—he had forgotten to shave this morning. He appraised Madi with a gaze more philosophical than amused, this time.

“Moths and butterflies are different species entirely.”

“And one of them is superior to the other.”

“I don’t know if I agree with that.”

Madi looked at him as if he were a nonsensical old person. Which he supposed he was, in some ways. To her eyes, he was already ancient.

“You can’t _possibly_ tell me you find moths pretty,” she stated, deadpan.

“I don’t think it’s _about_ them being pretty or not.”

“Okay, is this about to turn into some life-lesson metaphor or something?”

Bellamy chuckled lightly, but continued nonetheless.

“I’m just saying, they’re different. Butterflies come out during the day, whereas moths’ turf is the night. Butterflies are pretty and graceful, but when they come out, the world is already pretty and bright. The sun is out, the flowers are in bloom, ready for them to forage. They bring superfluous beauty to an already perfect picture. Moths, though. They show up when it’s too dark to even see ahead. They find the light amidst the obscurity, and they’ll remind you it’s there, even when you don’t believe it anymore. They’re your only company when everything else is dark and scary.”

Madi looked utterly unimpressed.

“So, that was a yes on the life-lesson metaphor-or-something, gotcha.” She sighed, her annoyance more pretense than anything else. “I mean, you like moths, I get it. No need to go all pastoral poetry on me.”

Bellamy shook his head in faint disapproval.

“Kids, these days.”

Madi stuck out her tongue in response.

o0o0o

Octavia dropped by Clarke and Madi’s house often, usually unannounced, always for the silliest reasons. Madi, who worshipped the ground the woman walked on, was always pleased by the surprise. Clarke had to admit, she had grown fond of her too, over the years.

This time, Octavia showed up after school hours with paperwork in hand. She had just gotten her project of muay thai classes for teens approved by the town, and she was bringing the forms for Madi to be her first formally registered student.

As Madi filled out the papers excitedly, Clarke leaned in towards Octavia to whisper the question, “How much do I owe you for these?”

“A grand total of zero dollars.”

“Octavia,” Clarke adopted a chastising tone. “You’ve literally just started, you can’t be giving out freebies just yet.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

“It’s _not_ a challenge, Octavia. Let me pay you.”

“I don’t want your money, Clarke. It’s self-serving, believe me. Madi is so keen, she’ll talk me up to all her classmates, she’s basically free marketing for me.”

Clarke looked unconvinced, but sensed she would not win this one.

“Fine,” she gave in with a defeated sigh. “But only this time. Next semester, I pay full price.”

“ _Whew_ , I don’t know if we’ll make it that far, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Clarke gave her a look of pure, resolute assurance. “Of course you’ll make it.”

Octavia’s mocking front wavered slightly, and she smiled awkwardly. This unease around compliments and encouragements was a family trait, it seemed. As much as Octavia claimed to be the antithesis of her brother, these two were alike in more ways than they were willing to admit.

Octavia’s glance browsed the room for an out, as Madi still worked away at those forms. Her eyes finally landed on the book that had been strewn across the table from an earlier reading session.

“Is that Bell’s book?” Octavia asked, raising an intrigud eyebrow. She walked over to the table so as to pick it up and browse its pages.

“Yeah,” Clarke replied casually. “He lent it to me, said I might like it.”

Octavia snorted, Clarke failed to see why.

“Of course he did,” Octavia noted with inexplicable sarcasm.

Clarke frowned, puzzled by Octavia’s humorously snide tone. “Why do you say that?”

Octavia glanced back at her, book casually opened in her hands. She sized up her expression and demeanour, and seeing that she was genuine in asking, she sighed with an odd note of amusement.

“This is Bellamy’s favourite book of all time. He must have read it, like, seven times.”

The information sounded irrelevant and also failed to truly answer the question at hand, but Clarke was nonetheless taken aback by it. It didn’t seem to match what she knew.

“The book is new,” she countered plainly.

Octavia was unfazed by it. “Yeah. His first copy was so wrecked, he had to buy it again. He doesn’t usually buy books, mind you. He normally gets them from the library. Not much of a shopper, you know that. But _that_ book, he had to own.”

Clarke turned the information around in her mind, unsure what to make of it. “Huh,” she huffed in wonder. “The way he talked about it, I thought he’d just read it.”

“Oh no, he’s been 100% obsessed with this book since he read it in his early twenties. That was before our mom died, before he went to war. I don’t know what it is with this story. I’ve read it, didn’t really get it.” She turned the book around in her hands, finally taking notice of the bookmark slipped between the book’s pages, near the middle. She met Clarke's eyes once more. “What do you think of it?”

“I really like it.”

Octavia huffed inexplicably again. “Of course you do.”

She offered no further explanation for her comment. Madi came forward with her forms, boasting about how excited she was for the class to start, and the book was all but forgotten.

o0o0o

Bellamy’s phone buzzed as he started the car. Just before shifting to drive, he glanced at the flashing screen. On it, a notification bubble with Clarke’s name at the top.

_Good luck on your date tonight!_

Just as he finished reading the first one, a second text popped up immediately above it.

_Just got to the city myself. Mom’s already asked about my love life. I’ve been inside for five minutes. I hope your night proves more titillating than mine._

Bellamy snorted as he typed a quick response. _Show her pictures of Madi working on the shed. Should keep her busy._

Almost immediately, Bellamy’s phone vibrated to announce a response.

_Oh please, that was the first thing I did. Now what?_

Smiling in unabashed amusement, Bellamy replied. _Clarke, we talked about this. You can’t pull out your best cards right at the start. Rookie mistake. Can’t help you there._

Clarke’s retort was more succinct. _Wow. And I thought you cared…_

Bellamy briefly glanced at the clock and realized he was running late. He threw his phone back on the passenger seat and engaged on the road, heading for the city.

o0o0o

The restaurant Echo had chosen was fancier than he had expected. He kept glancing down at his clothes as they entered. It was one of the outfits Clarke had picked out for him at the store, before his first city date with Echo. They were clothes that fit him and felt like him, clothes he felt comfortable in, but also clothes that clashed with those of the other people here. This restaurant was a lot more high-end than the place they had gone to that first time. Here, he felt like a country boy stereotype waltzing into a fancy dining room. No one was staring, but in his mind, everyone was judging.

Echo was dressed perfectly for the occasion, with a simple yet luxurious black dress. It hugged every single one of her curves in an impossibly flattering way. It should have been indecent, really, but where anyone else would have come off as tasteless and gaudy, she managed to look high-class and elegant. Bellamy was convinced everyone wondered how a bum like him could score a goddess like her. He was not emboldened by the thought.

They took their seats at the table the waiter led them to. Bellamy let Echo handle the wine and appetizer orders, and he buried his attention into the entrées menu, hoping to disappear into it. There were so many people here, and they were all so _loud._

“So,” Echo spoke seductively, eyeing him with hungry eyes, blind to any signs of angst, “how was your week?”

Bellamy made an effort not to let his nerves affect his behaviour. Echo had made a real effort to plan a nice second date in the city for the two of them. He had to at least try.

“Good. I mean, nothing really unusual. You? How was your week?”

Echo chuckled in genuine amusement. Bellamy was puzzled.

“Don’t give me that ‘good’ nonsense,” she explained softly, resting a hand on his over the table. “When I ask about your week, it’s not small talk. I really want to know. So, tell me. What did you do this week?”

Bellamy was unsettled. She looked at him with pure patience and interest, as she awaited his answer. She genuinely cared. The thought should have brought warmth to Bellamy’s constricted chest. Instead, he turned the question over in his mind, scrambling for an answer.

“Hum,” he stammered awkwardly, as Echo’s smile remained unwavering. “I’ve spent most nights working with Madi on their new shed. It’s almost done now, and it’s looking really good. She won’t say it, but she’s proud. As she should be.” Talking about Madi helped, he found. He relaxed a little as he continued. “Business has been a little quiet, but a bunch of new orders came in this week. One of them was by Miller and Jackson, for a kitchen set. They’re decorating the new house and Jackson apparently has a very clear and specific vision of what he wants. That’s alright, though. Madi’s going to help.”

“Miller and Jackson," Echo hummed pensively. "They’re getting married soon, right?”

“Yeah, in October. Anyway, that’s pretty much my week.” He paused, as if to make sure it was now acceptable to add, “And you?”

Echo took a few more seconds than seemed natural to answer. When she did, however, she looked all but composed. She was her usual agreeable self.

“It’s been busy. Work’s been crazy. My teens have been getting into all kinds of trouble all at once, it’s like they coordinated.” She rolled her eyes self-deprecatorily, with a smile hinting at her lack of genuine anger. “Still gotta love them, though.”

Bellamy smiled with authentic admiration. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s a ruthless, thankless job. You gotta love it, or it drains you of all you have to give.”

Their waiter brought their drinks and appetizers, but neither paid him much mind. Bellamy nodded with overt adulation for Echo. People who dedicated their lives to helping others were beyond him. He respected them greatly, appreciated the work they did for the society they lived him. But he could never be that patient, that caring, that devoted to people he barely knew. That had to be the thing he found most fascinating about Echo. How she cared.

She reminded him of Clarke, in some ways. Although, the comparison felt wrong. They were so dissimilar too. The friendship he had with Clarke, he knew he wouldn’t find one like it with anyone else. He supposed that made sense. Friends and lovers were different categories entirely. Not to be confused.

Echo was silent, all of a sudden. Bellamy’s first thought was to worry, but then he noted the intensely impure way she looked at him, and he felt the sweat forming on his forehead.

She spoke the words before he could awkwardly change the subject. “Do you want to stay the night at my place?”

And there it was. They hadn’t even ordered their main course yet. He wanted to take a big gulp of his wine, but knew it would only make him look suspicious, dishonest. He wasn’t even trying to hide anything, yet he felt inexplicably nervous. This was nothing new—they’d spent plenty of nights together already. Just because it would this time happen in a space more personal, where Echo could show him a piece of her world, did not have to feel so daunting.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected the offer either.

But now that it was on the figurative table, he grasped at straws for an excuse. And he found one.

“Sorry,” he sighed, apologetic. “I promised Madi I’d give her a ride to school tomorrow morning. She has this presentation in English class, and her visuals are too bulky for her bike.”

It wasn’t a lie. Just the night before, Bellamy had gone off on how silly it was to have a presentation in mid-September already, to which Madi could only agree. Of course he had told her he would drive her. Part of him was unimaginably relieved he had.

Echo’s expression was hard to read. She was disappointed, that was for sure, but she held it together with calculated strength.

“Okay,” she whispered a little too sweetly. “Maybe next time, then.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Feeling guilty, he added, “I’m really sorry.”

“No,” she lightly exclaimed, raising a hand in peace, “don’t be! It’s really sweet that you’re so present for that girl. I’m sure she really appreciates it.”

Bellamy huffed sarcastically. “I don’t know about that. She _is_ fifteen years old. If eye rolls and deep sighs are signs of appreciation, then maybe I believe it.”

Echo chortled lively at the comment. “Ah, teenagers and their antics.” Then, she looked at him more seriously. “But seriously. I know teens. They may not always know what’s good for them, but they need people who care.”

Echo’s words were kind, complimentary in intent. Yet something about her tone felt off. Bellamy frowned slightly, feeling his guards rise near imperceptibly.

“I wouldn’t say Madi _needs_ me, per se,” he responded cautiously.

Echo seemed oblivious to the shift in Bellamy’s tone. Maybe she took it as pure modesty. She responded with a keen, encouraging lilt to her voice. “I don’t know, Bell, I wouldn’t be so dismissive of the impact you’re having on her. I work with teens in rough family situations all the time, and you’d be amazed at how meaningful a stable presence can be.”

Bellamy’s brows furrowed more deeply, and his eyes darkened. Echo noticed, this time, her smile freezing in place.

“Madi’s not in a _rough family situation_ ,” he replied simply, but firmly.

Echo’s smile turned apologetic. “I know, I _know._ I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” She rested a hand over his in emphasis. He did not pull his hand away, but he did not hold hers in return.

He briefly wondered why he was so wired—clearly Echo did not mean any harm. He could be so thin-skinned when it came to people within his inner circle. Octavia, Pike, Miller, Clarke, and Madi. They were untouchable in his eyes, and he realized he was a little crazed about it sometimes.

He was about to loosen up when Echo added, “I only meant to say, Madi’s mom doesn’t seem to be around much. That can’t be easy.”

And, whoops. Lid was off.

“What do you mean, _she’s not around_? You don’t even know her.” Bellamy’s tone was calm, chillingly so. The accusatory nature of it was underlying, but strikingly clear. He saw in Echo’s eyes that she realized she had crossed a line.

“Bell, I mean no harm. It’s just, you help that family out so much. I have to be honest, I worry about you. I don’t want you to get taken advantage of.”

Bellamy was too stunned to respond right away. First, his hands started shaking, and then he almost literally felt his blood boil in his veins, the heat rising to his head. He couldn’t think clearly anymore, but one thought kept him under control—he did not want to explode in a restaurant. People would look, people would stare. _Look at the angry man yelling at that poor woman_ , they would think.

They wouldn’t be wrong.

Echo meant well. Even in his state of blinding rage, he could see it. In a way, that only made it worse. That she could look at his friendship with Clarke, this pure loving bond that had pulled him out of asphyxiating darkness and kept him sane over the years; that she could look at one of the most beautiful, most meaningful, most unadulterated features of his life and see foulness, he could not fathom. He felt sick.

“Clarke saved my life.” He surprised himself with the words, but they were true. “She’s the best thing that's ever happened to me. How _dare_ you speak of what you don’t understand?”

“Bell…”

But it was too late.

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and shakingly drew bills out of it. He dropped them carelessly on the table.

“Hope that’s enough to cover the cost of dinner,” he muttered plainly, grabbing his jacket as he rose.

“Bell!” Echo repeated in disbelief.

He left without a word, without a glance.

Echo remained frozen in her shock and hurt, before she falteringly and soberingly gathered her things and left as well, alone.

o0o0o

The night had been long. They had chatted for hours. Abby always had so much to say.

Clarke supposed that was partly her fault for not visiting more often. Always so busy, she was. She and Madi did not live all that far away, but she knew Abby missed them more than she let on. Next time, she would have to bring Madi. Abby did not let up on asking about her granddaughter all night. Too bad Madi had too much homework tonight to tag along.

Clarke was truly tired. She hadn’t slept well these past nights, and her dark circles were digging a little deeper everyday. Abby hadn’t missed that either.

It was nothing bad. It had just been so much emotion lately, with Sheid, and the court hearing, and then all that overtime at work. They had finally hired a replacement for Gaia, who had then bailed within a week. They were all overworked and exhausted.

Clarke turned on the radio as she drove home. The highway was dark, with the distanced lampposts doing a poor job of keeping her alert. She browsed the stations before settling on the least disappointing option. No strong powerful beats to shake her awake for the last half hour of the drive. Only boring, drowsy ballads at midnight on a weeknight.

She tapped an imaginary beat on the wheel, bobbing her head intermittently.

She blinked more often than necessary.

Some blinks were longer than others.

She shook herself awake.

She blinked again.

When she reopened her eyes, they burned with sudden blinding light. She heard strident honking and the squealing of tires.

She did not hear the crash.


	15. Undead Tragically Tortured Artist Figures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that y'all thought there would be a six-year time jump and a whole coma debacle after the last chapter says so much about me as a writer. I should be ashamed of it, really. Instead, I find myself perversely proud of it.
> 
> That being said, ain't nobody got time for a six-year time jump. I mean, it's been fourteen chapters of painstakingly slow burn. We got PLACES TO BE.

Clarke had spent the major part of her adult life in hospitals and medical clinics. The environment was one she knew like the back of her hand, she thought.

Yet nothing could quite prepare her for the fuzzy disorientation she would feel upon awaking in a strange bed, in a colourlessly sterile room she did not instantly recognize as a hospital. Her vision was hazy, and the sounds of the world around her were distant and muffled, like hearing the neighbours’ radio in the middle of lazy Sunday afternoon. She could not make out the words, but the voices felt familiar.

She felt a hand squeeze hers, and her vision finally focused on Madi’s clear sea-blue eyes, framed by her tangled locks of black hair.

“Clarke?” Madi asked, doubt and fear radiating from her eyes and aura in waves.

Clarke tried to respond, but her words came out in a swollen drawl. Befuddled, she frowned at her current impairment.

That was when she felt another hand, much larger, much rougher, delicately rest on her shoulder. She recognized the voice that accompanied it before she could even focus on the raven-black pupils of Bellamy.

“It’s okay, Clarke,” his voice rumbled in a low gravelly whisper. “Don’t exert yourself. You were in an accident, but you’re okay. You’re at the hospital.”

Bellamy’s hair was ruffled too, she noticed. She couldn’t tell what time it was, nor what day. How long had she been out? She couldn’t bring herself to ask. 

Everything else was a blur. Abby barged into the room at some point, looking bewildered and frantic, followed by a more composed Marcus. Bellamy stepped back to whisper some unintelligible explanations to Abby, who did not seem to relax one bit, although she did rein in her frantic interrogation to instead bring her devout attention to Clarke. Abby spoke to her in comforting tones, Clarke listened inattentively.

Eventually, Bellamy drew nearer again, and explained that he was taking Madi home, that he would stay with the girl overnight. Clarke uttered the word “school” with painstaking effort, and Bellamy assured her he would call the school and let them know Madi would stay home for the day. Clarke thanked him with a weak smile, unable to utter the word out loud.

Abby remained by Clarke's side for the rest of the night. Marcus was around, bringing her water, snacks, and coffee. The sun rose, slowly taking over artificial lighting in the room. For hours, Clarke balanced in and out of sleep, unable to follow Abby’s words for more than a few sentences.

Abby finally fell asleep around mid-morning. Clarke followed suit immediately.

o0o0o

Later in the day, the drugs had dissipated enough for Clarke to get a grasp on reality. Abby was still there, fighting off sleep on the dejected-looking grey armchair by the bed.

Clarke’s mind was clearer, but so was the pain. Every muscle in her body felt sore, like she had run a marathon on her hands and feet. Or more accurately, been beaten up by a dozen boxing champions. Or been trampled by a whole caravan of camels in the Sahara Desert. She could not move without wincing—and moving was hard enough as it was with a neck brace and a leg brace. Through it all, she could only think of one thing: sleeping in her bed at home, surrounded by her things, by Madi, by A.L.I.E. Just, home. The doctor said it would have to wait another day or two. A day or two felt like forever in hospital time.

Bellamy returned with Madi in the afternoon and they both spent a few hours with Clarke, chatting and watching TV. Clarke held up a strong front the entire time, exclaiming how positive she felt that she would make a quick recovery, and how lucky she had been. She did not say it, but they all thought it—it could have been much, much worse.

When Marcus finally managed to drag Abby home—with a promise to call for updates every other hour—and Madi slipped out of the room to find the bathroom, Clarke’s smile faded instantly. The strong front was exhausting to maintain. Her entire demeanour drooped, as if forcefully dragged down by gravity.

“Everything okay?” Bellamy asked from where he sat slumped in the armchair, eyeing her attentively.

Clarke gulped with difficulty. She closed her eyes in a wince of pain.

“I can’t believe I’m putting her through this,” she whispered weakly.

“Putting her through what?” Bellamy's tired voice rasped evenly.

“ _This._ Another car crash, another fucking tragedy she doesn’t deserve.”

Bellamy rose from the armchairs calmly but swiftly, spurred by her self-deprecating anger with stark determination. When he grabbed her hand, however, it was with unexpected tenderness. Clarke met his eye with helpless anticipation.

“Clarke, none of this is your fault.”

“I fell asleep at the wheel,” she sobbed. “I wasn’t careful. I hit a _fucking_ lamppost. I almost hit another car.” Her voice cracked. “I could have seriously hurt people.”

“Accidents happen every day, Clarke. You were lucky.”

“For how long, though? How many chances does one get at being lucky, Bell?” Clarke sniffed and rubbed her eyes with her free hand, anticipating Madi’s return at any moment. “I could have died. And then, Madi…”

“You didn’t die.”

Bellamy’s sudden firmness was enough to halt Clarke in her spiraling. She sniffed one last time and nodded slightly. She brushed the few treacherous tears around her eyes with a swift hand as Bellamy silently returned to his seat.

Madi returned a moment later. Clarke smiled at her sweetly, pretending everything was just as it had been before she left.

o0o0o

Bellamy drove Clarke back home. She still rocked her neck brace and leg brace, with a new cane to match. Her doctor anticipated she would be able to lose the cane in a few weeks, although she wouldn’t be found in heels anytime soon.

If she wanted to get back to work as soon as possible, she had to allow her leg to heal and refrain from putting weight on it. This meant having to go against her very own industrious essence with torturous patience. She was someone who never took sick days unless she was physically unable to go to work. She rarely went on vacations and she willingly did overtime whenever vaguely suggested by her bosses. She was not someone who enjoyed bedrest. At all. And yet there she was, keeping her legs up all day, in the hopes of getting better sooner.

Accelerating her healing became Bellamy’s mission as much as hers, apparently. He was over at their house basically all the time, cooking, cleaning, driving Madi. Monitoring Clarke’s comings and goings, too. Or rather, actively restricting them by freaking out every time she dared graze the floor with her tippy toes. Clarke was lucky he let her go to the bathroom by herself at this point. He barely let her do _anything_ , let alone go for a walk or exercise.

“I’ll get bedsores, at this rate,” she complained one afternoon, struggling to find a comfortable position. Her skin felt like it was developing stretch marks just from the pressure of consistently lying down.

Bellamy barely took his eyes off the laundry he was folding, sitting on the opposite edge of her double bed. “I’ll carry you to the couch if you want,” he offered casually.

The scariest part of it was, she knew he meant it.

o0o0o

Within a week, their daily schedule felt like clockwork. Every day, Madi came into Clarke’s room at exactly 7:55 to kiss her goodbye before heading to school with Bellamy. Clarke heard the latter’s truck return soon after. Most mornings, he busied himself with his own work outside, but came in the house regularly to check in on her and bring her anything she may need and more.

Abby called every day for updates. When Clarke was asleep or too moody, Bellamy answered the phone and spoke to Abby for the fifteen to twenty minutes it took to assure her everything was fine.

Bellamy typically spent a couple of hours doing chores around the house, either in the late afternoon or early evening.

Lunch was always ready at exactly 12:00. Dinner, at 18:15.

In the evenings, all three of them gathered on the couch and watched TV together. Bellamy dismissed them all to bed at 23:00, and no one dared protest.

Clarke could not remember the last time she had followed such a strict routine. When she joked about it to Bellamy, he looked at her as if it were the most obvious thing.

“I’m military," he responded, deadpan. "What did you expect? I basically breathe organization.”

Clarke supposed that _was_ to be expected, actually.

o0o0o

Clarke had plenty of time to read while on her regiment of bedrest and simulated home arrest. She powered through _The Shadow of the Wind_ in a record of speed.

When she finally convinced Bellamy to take her on a short walk around the block—an excursion during which he never once let go of her arm and shoulder, fearing a fall even though she was perfectly able to walk without his help at this point—she brought up the book to him. Delight immediately bloomed on his face as she told him how much she had loved it.

“I have to ask, though” she added, bearing a mischievous air that Bellamy did not fail to notice, “which character of the book made you think of me in the first place? Was it the ghost-slash-devil figure Lain Coubert? Or the unchaste blind beauty Clara?”

A grin tugged at Bellamy's lips as he adopted a mysterious air of ambiguous non-answer.

“Who said it was a specific character that made me think of you?”

“Oh, so the general concept of undead, tragically tortured artist figures reminds you of me?”

“You did mention you liked art as a kid.”

Clarke’s eyes snapped back to Bellamy, startled. She could not remember exactly when she had shared that specific piece of information to him, but she felt sure it was a ridiculously long time ago. She could not have mentioned it more than once or twice, in passing. Truth was, she had not touched a single paintbrush in over twelve years, not since her father's passing, and it was not a topic she discussed openly or easily. Madi had never seen her paint, and Clarke was not certain her daughter even knew about that chapter of her past. Lexa had known, but had never seen it in action either.

She could not believe Bellamy remembered something so obscure.

The rest of their walk was filled with mindless chatter. Just being outside and moving around helped. She certainly did not need Bellamy to physically support her like this anymore, but she did not protest. She could feel the warmth of his palm on her skin through the fabric of her shirt, and the more she focused on it, the more rousing heat she felt emanating from it. After a day spent in his workshop, the salty tang of his sweat interspersed with the faint hints of sweetness from his aftershave were strangely intoxicating.

She was aware of the effect Bellamy had on her. She had always been, albeit not always acceptingly. Having him around so much made it particularly hard to ignore now.

She did not want to think about the implications. The mere thought was overwhelming.

Better to focus on each single step she took on the gravelly road leading back home.

Better not go down that other strange, dangerously mysterious road which called to her.

o0o0o

Bellamy insisted on driving Madi to her first muay thai lesson, even though she could easily bike there. He dropped her off and drove back to Clarke's house to wash dishes from their dinner.

When he returned an hour later to pick Madi up, Octavia was outside the building too, waiting with the girl.

“Hey big bro,” Octavia exclaimed, peering her head through the open passenger window. “Mind giving me a lift? Lincoln’s car is at Raven’s shop.”

Bellamy huffed out of principle, but unlocked the door nonetheless. “Sure,” he sighed exaggeratedly. “Hop in.”

They passed by Madi’s house first, so he dropped the girl off, then headed towards Octavia’s place, a house she had once shared with Raven, before the latter finally decided to move in with Shaw and Lincoln took her place.

When the car drew into Octavia’s driveway, the young woman turned a ridiculously mischievous smile towards her brother.

“Wanna come in for a bit? I have beer.”

Bellamy hesitated for a few too many seconds, enough for Octavia to scoff and roll her eyes.

“Oh, _come on_ ,” she droned. “Clarke will be fine if you’re not there for an hour or two. You need ‘me time’ too. Come in.”

There was no room for Bellamy to protest. He turned off the ignition and followed Octavia inside.

Octavia flipped every single light switch on her path, drowning the insides of her home in a superfluous amount of light, a habit that had once enraged Bellamy more than it should have. Nowadays, it still bothered him, but he was no longer in a position to chastise her about it.

His sister led the way to the kitchen, where she dug two beers out of the fridge. She slid one over to him on the island.

“Where’s Lincoln?” Bellamy asked to make conversation.

With her head still in the fridge as she rummaged through its contents, Octavia’s voice was slightly muted. “He’s assisting Indra with a class tonight. I don’t expect him back until late tonight.”

Indra had been Octavia’s muay thai teacher since she had been old enough to get herself to the city on her own. Indra was a scary, impassive woman who took no excuses from people. She was harsh, and she was mean. Incidentally, she was also the best at her craft in the area, arguably in the whole state. Octavia had picked up multiple odd jobs to pay for the lessons, finding in them the outlet she had always needed for her irrational rage towards life in general. Eventually, impervious Indra had taken her under her wing as her protégé.

It was also how Octavia later came to meet Indra’s nephew Lincoln, who hailed from Canada and displayed the most mesmerizing pair of eyes Octavia had ever seen.

Octavia finally emerged from the fridge with a bag of apples. The young woman had become a fervent advocate of vegetarianism and healthy eating in the last few years, a change Bellamy entirely attributed to her hippie boyfriend. Her common snacks of cookies or chips had gradually turned into fruits and vegetable plates. Bellamy had to admit, that was not a change he could rationally deplore. Although, he resented how headstrong she had been about rejecting his healthy servings of greens and grains back when she had been a teenager and him, a young man trying to keep his baby sister fed and hardy.

“So, how’s Clarke?” Octavia asked while slicing apples into snack-friendly slices.

“Good. Better. She should be able to get back to work soon.”

“Good,” Octavia emitted genially, meeting his eyes briefly for a sincere smile. “That’s really good.”

“Yeah,” Bellamy sighed. “It is.”

Octavia set the serving plate of apple slices on the island between them and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the fake marble top. When she locked eyes with him, Bellamy felt examined with such intensity that he had to look away.

“And how are _you_?” Octavia asked softly in spite of her piercing gaze.

The tone of her question made clear that no dismissively simple answer would do. She was truly, genuinely asking. Bellamy did not know how to answer. He had spent the last two weeks primarily caring for Clarke and Madi, to a point where his own self felt irrelevant.

He feared what would arise if he stopped to actually wonder how he was, under all of these layers of artificial toughness.

“Fine,” he dared answer, knowing full well Octavia would not be satisfied.

“Really?” she insisted, albeit more kindly than Bellamy would have anticipated.

“Yeah… I mean, it was a frightful time, but Clarke’s alright. She will be alright.”

Octavia nodded slowly, pensively, almost analytically. Bellamy did not like that look.

“ _What_?” he asked with hints of impatience.

Octavia shrugged defensively. “Nothing. You just look tired, is all.”

“Well, I haven’t been sleeping particularly well.”

“Worried?”

Bellamy paused. This felt like mined territory. A distant part of his mind was ringing the alarm, screaming at him to avoid it. Because god forbid he let any genuine emotion transpire in front of people.

Thankfully, he had matured enough to realize that his defensive mechanisms were pointless with people like Octavia or Clarke. He sighed in faint defeat.

“I mean, yeah,” he admitted simply.

Octavia smiled with what seemed like gratitude. She outstretched an arm and reached for his hand over the kitchen island. She squeezed it in hers with transcendent affection.

“Well, as you’ve said, Clarke is alright. And she’s lucky she has you to help.”

Something about that confident claim sounded wrong. Just, wrong. He could not quite tell why. He suspected they had achieved the inexorable—they had stepped a little too close to a mine, and emotion was broiling inside. Not anger, though. Not outrage, nor indignation.

He felt a knot form in his throat, which now felt inexplicably dry.

Octavia noticed. “Bell?”

He tried to think of an exit strategy, but he was shocked to find he did not want out. He only felt the sudden urgent need to say it. To let it out.

“I was so scared.”

Octavia initially appeared surprised by the subdued outburst. Then, her features softened. She was silent, but her eyes fixated on him encouraged him to continue.

So, he did. “I was so scared, O. I got the call from the hospital, and time just froze. I didn’t even know I was her emergency contact. I couldn’t think straight, I had to get Madi, tell her what happened, try to keep her calm. We drove to the hospital, and I had to be strong for Madi, I had to tell her that everything would be alright. But really, I was terrified. I was just so, _so_ afraid.” He breathed in shakily and looked away, hoping the shift would slow down the shameful approach of tears. “I thought I was losing her, O. I thought this was it.”

Octavia squeezed his hand once more. “Clarke’s okay,” she repeated for lack of more astute alternatives. Her voice veered on the whisper, betraying more emotion than she was willing to let on.

Bellamy shook his head, his eyes glistening with raw emotion. When they made eye contact again, both of them looked on the edge of cracking.

“I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

That was all it took. Octavia circled the island to get to him and wrapped her arms around him. Only then did she realize that he was shaking uncontrollably.

“I don’t know what I’d do,” he repeated in a piteous sob.

Octavia shushed him quietly, tenderly, as she rubbed her hand over the surface of his back.

For the first time in either of their memories, Bellamy was the one to cry in Octavia's arms.


	16. Arkadia and Jaha's Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another fairly quick update. Don't get your hopes up too much, though, delays are still to be expected in the future. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy Chapter 16.

Clarke went back to work as October rolled in. Her hours were reduced to slowly ease her back into the hectic routine at the clinic. She still wore the leg brace, but no longer needed the cane. Slowly, life seemed to regain a semblance of normalcy.

Bellamy was at their house most of the time still, doing various housework before Clarke could get to it.

“You realize I can walk, right?” she mused one evening, as the paradisiacal scent of carbonara and garlic filled up the room in mouth-watering whiffs of deliciousness. “You don’t have to cook for us anymore.”

Bellamy only briefly glanced at her, before returning his attention to the fuming pot he was stirring meticulously. As usual, she had offered her help. As usual, he had declined and left her to watch, hungry and useless.

“I want to,” Bellamy said plainly, with a faint shrug.

His attention was again focused on the food, and Clarke sensed there was no way she would convince him that this was unnecessary, and maybe even a little odd.

He continued to cook in their home near every night.

o0o0o

Miller and Jackson’s wedding was approaching fast.

A little over a week before the event, to which both of them had RSVP’d months ago, Clarke and Bellamy were leveraging their stellar teamwork to fold sheets in Clarke’s living room. He was finally allowing her to regain control of her housework—at least in part—and Clarke never thought she would feel excited over doing laundry.

Folding fitted sheets was still, however, her kryptonite. She was not going to reject the help if it was offered so gracefully.

Clarke grabbed her wine-red flat sheet from the laundry basket and handed out two corners to Bellamy, who backed up to the other end of the room to stretch it to its full length. They shook out the creases and folded the sheet in half along its length in the wide distance between them. That was when Clarke asked the question that had been on her mind for over a week.

“Are you bringing Echo to the wedding?” she asked casually, with a simple air of interest. There was, however, something about the way she said it, which Clarke feared had come off as too obvious.

Bellamy shrugged as they stretched the sheet and folded again.

“Echo isn’t talking to me anymore.”

“Oh?”

Without verbal cues, they drew closer and met in the middle, to fold along the sheet’s width. Their eyes met as their respective edges were reunited. Bellamy’s fingers brushed against hers as he gripped her corners. Suddenly light-headed, Clarke let her hands slip against the length of the sheet to grip the newly created opposite end and retreated back to her place, which was now only half the distance away.

“Yeah,” Bellamy replied in a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t think it was going to work out anyway.”

Clarke nodded. Another fold, and they met in the center once more. Bellamy’s fingers brushed against hers again, and it felt much less accidental this time. Clarke shook off the idea instantly, realizing she was twisting reality in her mind.

She lowered her eyes in an uncharacteristic show of shyness and smiled demurely.

“Well, since we’ll both be there, I guess we might as well go together, then.”

It felt silly to even say. They would have been driving together anyway, what with Clarke having totaled her car. They undoubtedly were already sitting together in Miller’s seating chart. Clarke had become a more organic component of this group of people, but no one questioned the superiority of the friendship between Bellamy and Clarke. It was just a generally understood fact.

She half-expected Bellamy to roll his eyes at her and grunt that it didn’t mean anything whether they went ‘together’ or not.

He did not.

Instead, a faint smile tugged at his lips, as he eyed her with destabilizing intensity. Whenever Bellamy looked at her like that, so directly and earnestly, Clarke felt completely naked. Like he could see her beyond every barrier, every pretense, every piece of clothing. She felt uncovered and vulnerable, and she could hardly fight the heat rising to her face.

At this point, they had been holding the same corners of the sheet for too long, and Clarke could swear Bellamy’s fingers were grazing hers deliberately.

“Yeah, ok.”

His response was short and simple, but it filled Clarke with inexplicable relief.

She dropped her hands from the sheet as Bellamy executed the last finishing folds, and she went to get the next one from the laundry basket.

She missed the way he looked at her when her back was turned.

o0o0o

Clarke had attended one bachelorette party before. Zoe, a friend from high school, had gotten married at the tender age of twenty-one, and the entire night had been a string of silly embarrassing challenges, senseless screaming, and many, many shots.

Clarke had never been to a bachelor party. The prospect was both exciting and intimidating to her. She had been pleased to get Jackson’s invitation, however. Jackson being a doctor at the clinic, he and Clarke had seen each other nearly every day for years now, and although they had never been particularly close, she had always appreciated the man’s conversation and sense of humor. He had a stellar work ethic and was damn good at his job, for which Clarke respected him greatly. He and Harper had been the first to affirm she should take all the time she needed to heal from her injuries, and her job would be waiting for her. They never mentioned to her the crazy hours everyone had to pull in the meantime, even though she knew. It had been a long time since she had felt so supported, like she was part of a community. It felt… nice. Really nice.

The two grooms held their bachelor parties on the same night. Bellamy, as Miller’s Best Man Extraordinaire, was obviously going to Miller’s, alongside Murphy, Emori, Raven, Octavia, Lincoln, and a few other people Clarke did not know from Miller’s circle.

Jackson, in the meantime, had invited Clarke, Harper, some colleagues, some family members. Clarke sensed their party would be the tamest of the two, and she felt actually quite relieved at the thought. She sensed she would be on hungover-Bellamy duty in the morning. She had Advil and ginger ale on the ready at home.

Meanwhile, Madi was spending the night over at Charlotte’s, so she wouldn’t have to see her favourite adults through the embarrassing lense of youthful debauchery that was way past their age. It had been Clarke's idea, not so much Madi's. Clarke did not fool herself into thinking her teenage daughter was clueless as to what they were getting up to tonight. Heck, she probably had a better idea than Clarke herself, who felt entirely in the dark as to what awaited her at that party.

Their night started at Miller and Jackson’s house. It was gracefully vacated by Miller’s group, which was instead getting started at Murphy’s. Jackson’s Maid of Honour Maya hosted silly drinking games interspersed with embarrassing stories about Jackson’s pre-Miller life—most of which were utterly shocking for Clarke to hear. When everyone looked tipsy enough, they got on their way to one of the two local bars.

Indeed, their town exhibited a gloriously grand total of two bars. Arkadia was the newer, cooler, hipper nightclub, popular with the youths. Jaha’s bar, on the other hand, was the gathering place of middle-aged men with beer bellies and nonexistent pool-playing skills. In their harsh negotiations, Jackson had won the right to Arkadia, while Miller’s party was reduced to playing pool at Jaha’s. Clarke sensed this would not stop the other group from getting ludicrously drunk by ten o’clock in the evening.

Arkadia was certainly not big, but the bright flashing lights and obnoxiously loud music made up for the restricted space. Jackson and most of his group were on the dancefloor in minutes, while Clarke headed for the bar. She ordered some ridiculously-named overpriced cocktail, and intended to sip it quietly for most of the night. Dancing was not her forte, and she thought she would much rather watch the whole last-night-of-freedom debacle unfold from the sidelines than get in the middle of it. (It did not even make sense to call it Jackson’s last night of freedom. The wedding was not actually the next day.) All she needed was some popcorn and a front-row seat, and she would be set up for a night of prime entertainment.

Her plans were quickly foiled by Harper, who saw her trying to camouflage herself into the background and pounced. She gripped Clarke's wrist with superhuman strength and dragged her to the dancefloor with shocking ease. There was no denying her what she wanted, and in that moment Clarke thought she understood how Jordan had grown into such a polite, well-behaved young man after all. Fear was the secret.

Soon enough, Clarke lost track of time, dancing and laughing with Harper. Their group’s happy daze was only interrupted around what had to be midnight, when Miller’s group was sighted in Arkadia, infringing the terms of their thoroughly-negotiated agreement.

Jackson, who was hopelessly drunk, latched onto his equally shit-faced soon-to-be-husband’s neck and kissed him sloppily, while members of both parties exclaimed that this was not the point of a bachelor party.

Clarke and Bellamy locked eyes over the group of angry partiers, smiling amusedly at each other. Bellamy looked fairly stable on his two feet, although the rosy tint of his cheeks denoted a fairly advanced state of inebriation. He walked over to her, his smile wider than sober-him would ever allow, and leaned in close to her ear, to be heard over the loud music.

“How’s your night?”

His loud voice was barely audible over the blaring music. It resonated uncomfortably against Clarke's traumatized eardrums, while Bellamy's breath tickled against the edges of her ear.

Clarke angled her head to also reply in his ear. “Good! Yours?”

“Good, good. Having fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Out of the blue, he picked her up in a sudden wobbly hug, which threw Clarke into an abrupt fit of frenzied laughter. She held on to his shoulders to avoid toppling over. When he lowered her back to the floor and they leaned back to look at each other, Bellamy’s smile was narrower, fainter, but the intensity in his eyes was tenfold.

“I am glad to see you.”

Clarke matched his smile, both amused and weirdly touched by the sincerity of his random statement.

“Me too.”

He stared back silently for a few seconds too long, before Murphy dragged him away to dance.

The night ended at the local diner, in the small hours of the night. Miller’s party disappeared somewhere in town again. Maybe they went back to Murphy’s, but who knew, really.

Jackson’s group had gotten smaller, as people had trickled back to their homes throughout the night. They were left to the core four—Jackson, Clarke, Harper, and Maya. They ordered the greasiest items on the menu and shared barely sensical chatter to ignore the ironically sterile harshness of the fluorescent lights. Maya passed a remark on how perfect Jackson and Miller were, and how much she envied them. If only her boyfriend Jasper could be a little more like Miller, maybe she would have a ring on her finger already.

Jackson picked at his fries distractedly, either lost in deep reflection or caught in an active fight against his wobbly stomach’s threats.

“We’re not perfect,” he drawled in casual dismissal. He bore the air of uncharacteristic wisdom drunk people had the inexplicable ability to adopt. “We’re both really flawed people. Especially me. I have a temper, you know. I hold grudges. I don’t forgive easily. He knows that. But that’s the thing. He never tried to fix me.” He stuffed a fry into his mouth, which did not stop him from completing his thought. “He just… encourages me to be better. With him, I _am_ better.”

Then, he paused, and quietly excused himself to the bathroom.

Without Clarke realizing it at the time, the words of a very drunk doctor stuck to her mind, and would haunt her thoughts for days afterwards.

o0o0o

The next morning, Clarke found Bellamy sprawled out on her couch, practically passed out. It was not exactly a surprise—she had heard his loud clumsy fumbling at five in the morning. Hearing no breakage or injury-inducing fall, she had let him be, opting to go back to sleep.

“You realize you have a house, right?” she chastised him with her arms crossed over the oversized shirt she slept in.

He groaned an unintelligible answer.

She rolled her eyes and went to get the Advil.

o0o0o

Two days before the wedding, Clarke heard news of Sheid.

He had been arrested on grounds of possession and distribution of heroin. Miller had kept a close eye on any files or snippets of information he could pry into. He called Clarke as soon as he heard.

Clarke sat Madi down and told her the news. When she asked her daughter how she felt about it, the girl answered blandly.

“He can’t hurt us now. So, I’m good.”

Clarke nodded and smiled, drawing her daughter into a reassuring embrace the latter had not asked for, but nonetheless needed.

o0o0o

That night, Bellamy lingered around, finding excuses not to return to his home. As if he knew.

Madi was in her room, theoretically in bed. Clarke and Bellamy were in the kitchen, preparing sandwiches for everyone’s lunch the next day. They worked in silence, executing the task efficiently and swiftly, like people who had practice working as a team. Evidently, they did.

Bellamy occasionally eyed her out of the corner of his eye, and she sensed he could tell she was preoccupied. He could always tell. It was only a matter of minutes before he brought it up.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked without halting in his task, as if to appear less forceful in his hesitant interrogation.

Clarke smiled disingenuously. “Yeah. I guess it’s just the whole Sheid thing. I’m glad he’s going behind bars again, but it’s never easy to get a reminder of his existence.”

Bellamy nodded in understanding.

They continued working in silence for a few minutes. Then, Clarke rested her knife on the counter and turned only slightly towards Bellamy, not quite looking at him, but still clearly addressing him. This time, he stopped what he was doing to listen more actively. He sensed it was necessary.

“I think I’m scared,” she voiced weakly.

“Scared of what?” His question was gentle, unobtrusive. It let Clarke know that she did not have to answer if she did not want to.

She supposed she wanted to. Needed to, maybe.

“Of being like my mom. Of needing to be needed. Sometimes, it feels like every day I get reminded of Madi growing up and becoming more and more independent. One day, she won’t need me anymore. And what then?” She paused. “I’m afraid of how I’ll react. What if I can’t handle it? What if I break?”

Bellamy reached for her hand, which had been hanging off to her side, and slipped his fingers between hers. This spurred Clarke to meet his eyes.

“Madi will always need you. Just, in different ways.”

“I know," she sighed in vaguely shameful defeat, "but my mind has been known to not always think rationally. I can’t help but think she won’t.”

Bellamy was silent for a moment, never breaking the eye contact.

Then, “I need you.” He paused, and then added less hesitantly, “I’ll always need you.”

Clarke took in the admission slowly, cautiously. Then, she smiled faintly.

“I need you too.”

And it was true. She needed him as much as he needed her, maybe more.

That was one thing she could not bring herself to doubt.


	17. Apple Rose Pie And Baklavas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter makes up for the wait.

“They’re here!” Madi screamed from down the hall, and Clarke swore under her breath.

She so rarely wore make-up. Applying eyeliner ranked high on her list of most taxing tasks to perform under pressure, right there under open-heart surgery, she assumed.

She heard the muted chatter of Charlotte’s parents enter the house, and she knew she had to go and say hello before they left with Madi for her sleepover tonight. Formal events like weddings were not Madi’s cup of tea. She was happy to send a card to the grooms via Clarke and instead spend the night watching gory horror movies and eating BBQ-flavoured popcorn with Charlotte.

Clarke dropped the eyeliner pencil on her bathroom counter with a frustrated sigh and made her way towards the living room, where the mini crowd awaited. Charlotte stood casually in the entryway, framed by both of her parents as they delivered the expected small talk to Madi.

“Ms. Griffin, you look so pretty!” Charlotte exclaimed upon seeing her approach. She brought her hands to her cheeks in an uncharacteristic show of pure awe—and overall emotion.

Charlotte’s mom and dad greeted her with the usual handshake, making sure to compliment her attire. She thanked them with a polite smile. The spotlight was not where she liked to stand. Plus, she could not help but doubt the validity of these compliments.

Clarke had done what she could with her current restrictions. She had only recently taken off the leg brace, but high heels were still out of the picture. She wore muted beige flats, bought online with the help of Madi when it became clear that her initial choice of shoes would prove a safety hazard. She had to tip her hat to Madi’s taste. The girl did not like dressing in typically girly clothes, but her choice of footwear for Clarke denoted a keen eye for colour and style. It complemented nicely Clarke’s golden elbow-length sleeved dress, which hugged her figure loosely, tying up at the waist and reaching down to just above the knees. The V-neck framed her small pendant necklace tastefully. She wore her hair up, with a few curled locks left loose at the front. Madi had helped with the straightening iron, having learned from Charlotte how to both straighten and curl hair with a single iron.

The final product was simple, but elegant. Clarke was relieved she had managed not to look like the weird aunt stuck in the ’90s whose look she commonly stole for fancy occasions. She was not a fan of make-up and uncomfortable clothes, but this get-up was bearable. She could make it through the day like this.

It was nearing noon, and the ceremony was starting at one. Before Charlotte’s family could leave with their guest of the night, a knock on the door announced Bellamy’s arrival. Clarke felt dread instantly fill her stomach. That meant they had to leave soon, and she was not ready. She hated being late to things—not as much as Bellamy did, but still—and she swore her eyeliner was on a mission to not only delay their departure, but also turn her into a raccoon for the ceremony if she tried to fix it any more.

Bellamy did not wait for someone to open the door for him. He came in cautiously, having heard the voices inside. Clarke was struck by how good he had cleaned up. His hair, which usually defied gravity in record-breaking shenanigans, had been forced into submission by an undoubtedly impressive amount of hair product. To the untrained eye, it looked effortlessly brushed back, with a clean part on the right side of his head. It made his face look leaner and his freckles stand out. He wore the suit they had picked out at the store in the summer. Clarke had made him send it to a tailor in the city for touch-ups, and the result was breath-taking. It fit him like a glove.

Charlotte fawned over his looks too, at which he lowered his head to hide his discomfort, stuffing his hands into his pockets for lack of a better response. Then, his eyes found Clarke and his polite smile melted away completely. He was staring, and Clarke wondered if her eyeliner was really that messed up. Had it already smudged all over her eyelids? She hadn’t been aiming for a smoky look, but she may have no choice in the end.

“Hey,” she uttered, smiling awkwardly as a way to snap him out of his trance.

It worked, somewhat. He blinked and smiled back a beat too late. “Hey.”

Neither of them said anything else, scrambling for smart-sounding words to utter, in vain. The voice of Charlotte’s father was the one to finally break the silence, to both Clarke and Bellamy’s relief.

“Well, wouldn’t want ya to be late. We better get going.”

Madi swiftly kissed Clarke’s cheek, and then Bellamy’s, wishing them both loads of fun, before exiting with Charlotte’s family. They heard the engine of a car running before either of them said anything again.

Bellamy was the one to speak first.

“You look… really stunning.”

Clarke had expected some comment on her appearance—that was the social norm, wasn’t it? To compliment a woman on a look she had put effort into. But _this_ did not feel like a polite remark. Bellamy was staring once more, his eyes unconsciously gliding over her every curve, and there it was again—the feeling of standing completely naked in front of him. Her cheeks were burning, and she could only muster a lame “thanks,” before adding “I have to go finish my makeup, I’ll just be a minute.”

She fought against the burning desire to sprint away, and walked as naturally as she could back to her bathroom. She closed the door behind her and exhaled deeply.

For the first time, the thought crossed her mind with painful clarity.

She was in trouble.

o0o0o

The ceremony was sweet, and beautiful.

Raven officiated, which was hilarious, considering how she was the very antithesis of a romantic. In spite of her usual cynicism, she delivered a wonderfully written ceremony, drawing quite a few tears from even the toughest guests. Clarke did not miss the tear Murphy swiped away not-so-surreptitiously, and she smirked as she dabbed at her own treacherously wet eyes.

The wedding party—Bellamy, Murphy and Octavia on Miller’s side, with Maya, Harper and Jackson’s cousin on the other—stood with the grooms at the front for most of the ceremony. Clarke found amusing how formal Bellamy looked, standing so straight and dressed so tastefully. More than once, he looked over to where she sat, smiling faintly. They communicated with subtle eyebrow lifts and eye movements that both of them somehow managed to understand.

When Raven invited the newlyweds to kiss the groom, the room erupted in applause.

o0o0o

The guests gathered for cocktails into the hall of the venue—a nice New England style inn located on a beautiful piece of land just outside of their town. The crowd trickled out of the ceremony room, later followed by the wedding party once their presence for pictures was no longer required.

Before she could spot him the crowd, Bellamy appeared before her with two flutes of champagne. He handed one to her.

“Oh, wow,” she exclaimed in mocking delight, “is that the secret? Attending weddings with the Best Man for quick service?”

Bellamy chuckled. “I have my ways.”

Spotting them from across the room, Octavia forcibly carved her way through the clusters of people to reach them. She also carried a flute of champagne, although hers looked near empty already. She looked at lot more animated than usual.

“Clarke, look at you!” the Blake woman exclaimed emphatically and cheerfully. “You’re _gorgeous_!”

Clarke, whose skills at accepting compliments proved deficient, deflected the attention back to Octavia.

“Not as much as you!” Clarke gestured at Octavia’s silky bridesmaid dress, which matched Bellamy’s tie. “Emerald really suits you.”

Octavia ignored that comment, instead turning to Bellamy. She pointed at Clarke with exaggerated insistence.

“Don’t you think she looks gorgeous?” she asked her brother with notes of theatrical impatience.

Clarke had not seen Bellamy blush often. When uncomfortable, he typically shut himself off, grumbled an answer, dismissed attempts at picking him open. This time, however, his freckled cheeks and forehead were spattered with diffuse blotches of pinkish red. It was shockingly evident. And it was incredibly adorable.

The man shyly glanced at her, before lowering his eyes to the wooden floors.

“I mean, yeah,” he replied inarticulately.

Octavia seemed satisfied and smiled happily. She returned her attention to Clarke.

“I looked at the seating chart,” she started explaining matter-of-factly, “and we’re together. I’ll go around and talk to people. Wouldn’t want to prove them right when they say I’m antisocial. I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

Clarke nodded amusedly, and let Octavia kiss her cheek before the latter disappeared into the crowd.

“It’s not her first glass, is it?” she asked Bellamy, deadpan.

“It’s at _least_ her third.”

“That’s impressive.”

“That’s Octavia.”

o0o0o

When dinner was announced, they all trickled back into the room, where tables had been rapidly and yet beautifully set up. Cocktail hour had lasted much longer than an actual hour, and everyone was a little tipsy at this point.

Clarke and Bellamy sat at their designated table with Octavia, Lincoln, Harper and Monty. In their relatively advanced state of inebriation, they joked and laughed extensively as the courses succeeded one another.

Maya delivered a beautiful speech about Jackson. Murphy—who filled in for Bellamy as the latter absolutely dreaded public speaking—delivered a much more inappropriate homage to Miller’s past. No one had expected otherwise, and they laughed and clapped nonetheless, seeing Miller taking it in stride.

Later, waiters circulated among tables to get each guest’s choice of dessert. Bellamy, with an arm casually braced around Clarke’s backrest, described to her the two options listed on the fancy little menu propped by the centerpiece. When Clarke could not make up her mind, Bellamy showed no hesitation in telling the waiter to bring one of each, so they could share.

Across the table, Octavia slapped Lincoln’s chest, exclaiming that was what they should have done too. Both Clarke and Bellamy ignored it, now ensconced into their own private conversation, which ranged from their favourite dessert to what Madi must be up to at this very moment. Bellamy did not take his hand off Clarke’s backrest as they spoke, using it to support his weight while unconsciously leaning in to better hear Clarke’s words over the loud chattering around the room.

Dessert was brought, as well as tea and coffee. A mini apple rose pie was set before Bellamy, and two smaller baklava cups before Clarke.

“Ugh,” she groaned with envy, her spoon instantly crossing over to Bellamy’s side. “Yours looks so much better!”

She scooped a generous bite off of his plate and brought it to her mouth. Eyes closed, she moaned in content appreciation.

“Delicious!” she concluded.

As if he had been waiting for her verdict, Bellamy reached for his own spoon to give the pie a try. His smile denoted a mix of amusement and something else Clarke could not quite pinpoint. He brought a crumbly spoonful to his mouth, his lips indecently grazing the spoon as he slowly, near suggestively pulled the silver utensil out of his mouth. He swiftly licked the crumbs off his lips, and Clarke realized she had been staring when he looked at her and smiled appreciatively.

“It’s really good,” he confirmed innocently.

Clarke found herself at a loss for words. Her face felt warm, all of a sudden. All she could think of was how Bellamy’s lips glistened in the romantic lighting of the room, which felt shamefully inappropriate.

She snapped back to reality when she noticed how Bellamy overtly eyed her dessert.

“Right.” She coughed awkwardly. “Want to try?”

Without waiting for a response, she picked one of the bite-sized baklava cups and held it out to him. He seemed surprised, hesitant, and only then did she realize that maybe feeding it to him was not a normal thing friends did. Before she could lower her hand or figure out a natural exit strategy, Bellamy’s hesitation dissipated and he started leaning in. His mouth approached her hand at a predatorily slow pace.

If the spoon thing had been suggestive, this was just plain raunchy. The way his lips parted a few inches away from her fingers, so she could delicately deposit the sweet dessert between them. His teeth dug into the offering, his lips closing in around it. They surreptitiously grazed Clarke’s fingertips in doing so, and she could not tell if it was an accident or not.

Bellamy leaned back on his chair, never once breaking eye contact, as he chewed on the baklava and nodded appreciatively. The tip of his tongue erupted from between his lips to lick the crumbs again, and Clarke was certain she would have collapsed right there and then, had it not been for the fact that she was already sitting.

It came as a relief when Bellamy excused himself to go to the bathroom. A burst of fresh air was eerily felt as soon as he walked away.

Clarke was reminded of the other people at the table when Harper exclaimed, “Is it me, or is it fucking hot in here?”

o0o0o

Bellamy took a while to return. Octavia seized the opportunity to scoot over to her absent brother’s chair, intent on showing Clarke pictures of the dog she and Lincoln had recently adopted. She was a rescue puppy. They had called her Sky. She was absolutely adorable, and Octavia was already acting like a proud mama.

They scrolled through the ridiculous number of pictures in Octavia’s phone, and when the latter ran out of comical anecdotes to tell, they fell into a brief comfortable silence. In unison, they turned their eyes to the head table, where Miller and Jackson were whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ear. They made up the perfect picture of wholesome love. Clarke smiled with endearment.

“They’re a sweet couple, aren’t they?” Octavia asked, also eyeing the newlyweds in subdued admiration.

Clarke agreed. “They’re a true inspiration.”

Octavia glanced at Clarke briefly, expression inscrutable, before returning her eyes to the grooms.

“I’m glad you’re here with Bell,” she voiced softly, naturally, as if her words were a natural continuation of their previous comments.

Clarke frowned slightly.

“I mean, he doesn’t need me to enjoy himself at a wedding,” she disputed softly.

Octavia huffed in suppressed amusement, without tearing her eyes off Miller and Jackson in the distance.

“I didn’t mean to say he did. It’s just…” She paused and looked at Clarke pensively. The intensity of her gaze reminded Clarke of the way Bellamy looked at her sometimes, although the differences were also undeniable. She could not quite explain what those differences were, exactly. They were just undoubtedly there. “With everything that’s happened, I’m glad you’re here.”

“You mean, what happened with Echo?”

This time, Octavia huffed more audibly. “ _God_ no. These two were not meant to last.”

Her tone was so harshly cynical all of a sudden, Clarke lifted an eyebrow in muted surprise. She had not been aware of Octavia’s dislike for Echo. Apparently, that was a trend, with Madi, and now Octavia too. Clarke had never formally met the woman, but from what she had seen of her and heard about her, she sounded nice. She could not fathom what it was that everyone seemed to hate on her for.

“I don’t know,” Clarke replied uncomfortably. “I think it’s a shame they broke up. Bellamy seemed to really like her.”

There it was, another amused huff. “He can’t have liked her _that_ much if he broke up with her.”

Clarke froze near imperceptibly. She had to pause to take in the information.

“I thought she broke up with him,” she admitted, the tense lines of a frown spreading on her face.

Racking her brain trying to remember what Bellamy had said about it, she realized he had never formally stated it. It had just seemed implied. She hadn’t wanted to pry by asking for details, but it had sounded so obvious then.

Octavia was her usual sarcastic self, and Clarke could not quite tell what warranted it. “Nope,” she said almost cynically, “he broke up with her. About time, if you ask me.”

Clarke did not know what to respond.

Hence, she kept quiet.

o0o0o

Clarke eventually found Bellamy outside on the inn’s open porch. He stood by the railing, elbows resting on it as he observed the darkened scenery. He seemed contemplative, maybe a little meditative, and completely unaware of the cold. Clarke shivered, wrapping her arms around her frame as she drew closer.

He raised curious eyes in her direction as he noticed someone approach. His expression softened when he saw it was her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, masking her concern with a layer of casual cheer.

“Just… taking a break from the crowd, I guess.”

Clarke nodded in understanding.

Music had started playing inside, but it came out sounding muffled out here. She had to admit, being outside felt like a nice break from the overwhelmingly loud soundtrack of a wedding. Here, the air was peaceful and quiet, albeit chilly. Before she could stop it, a shiver shook her entire body.

“Are you cold?” he asked in concern, noticing the way she crossed her arms tightly across her chest.

“No,” she lied unskillfully.

He shook his head in disapproval, foregoing her denial to wrap an arm around her shoulders. He drew her closer and used both of his hands to rub some warmth onto her partially naked arms. She eased into the embrace, naturally snaking her arms around his back and chest for warmth.

They stayed like this for a while, side by side, silently admiring the landscape in a near meditative state. The moonlight shone onto the evening’s obscurity to delimit the trees’ shadows against the starry sky. It was truly a magical scene, perfect for a celebration of love such as Miller and Jackson’s.

The question was burning her tongue, but it seemed like such a random inquiry at this time. Eventually, she found it in herself to ask anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with Echo?”

From the corner of her eye, she could see him looking down at her in surprise.

“I did,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“No,” she countered. “You heavily implied that she broke up with you. Why?”

Bellamy hesitated. Clarke could nearly see the tumultuous flow of incoherent words scrambling through his brain. “Does it matter?” he finally asked meekly.

“Yes.” She could not quite say why it did. It just did.

Bellamy sighed before stammering a response. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t… I didn’t want to get into it.”

“Why?” she asked softly, not wishing to make him feel attacked. She merely felt the inexplicable need to understand.

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, I am not particularly skilled at talking about my emotions.”

A self-deprecating smile formed on Clarke’s lips. That was true.

She turned to face him, hence stepping out his embrace. They remained unnaturally close still, his hand hovering over her hip as she peered resolutely into his black eyes.

“Are you sad?” she asked plainly.

He did not hesitate. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because… she didn’t understand me. And I didn’t understand her. She deserved someone better.”

“You _are_ great, Bellamy.”

“I don’t mean to say I wasn’t good enough. I just mean…” He sighed. “She didn’t get me. She didn’t get Madi. She didn’t get you.”

Clarke’s brows furrowed in sudden concern. “Me?”

It felt as if they were standing closer than a few seconds earlier, and Clarke wondered if Bellamy had stepped forward without her noticing. The hand on her hip almost imperceptibly rose to her waist. Bellamy’s eyes moved to her hair, and her breath caught in her throat as he lifted a hand to casually brush a loose lock of curled hair out of her face. The tip of his finger traced a burning path across her forehead.

Then, he lowered his hand to rest a warm palm against her neck. The moves were so daring, so unexpectedly overt, and yet there was indescribable indecision in his eyes. He looked afraid, and Clarke wondered how much of his brazenness could be blamed on the champagne.

“You’re important to me, Clarke.” He spoke clearly, frankly, without artifice. “You and Madi, you’re my world.”

Clarke’s throat felt drier than the Sahara Desert, because Bellamy’s eyes were so undeniably focused on her lips and she did not know how to process that information. They were standing nearly chest to chest, which meant one of them, if not both of them, had definitely been inching closer. Clarke’s own eyes were instinctively drawn to Bellamy’s plump, luscious lips. They were parted, and she could feel his chest rising in uneven patterns, as if he could not quite properly get air into his lungs. Clarke knew the feeling, because she felt exactly the same.

It was unclear who leaned in first. They both inched forward slowly and tentatively, until they were so close their noses touched. Clarke could feel Bellamy’s breath on her lips, and her hands rose to Bellamy’s shoulder plates of their own volition. There was a pause, a hesitation.

And then, it was gone.

Clarke covered the remaining distance and pressed her lips against his in a messy, hungry kiss.

o0o0o

Clarke had not imagined their first kiss before tonight. She really had not. The scenario was too surreal, near inconceivable. It had existed somewhere in the periphery of her mind, but she had never allowed it to enter her field of vision.

But if she _had_ imagined it, she would not have expected this. The eagerness, the greed, the urgency. They kissed in the most uncoordinated manner, their hands rummaging each other’s bodies, gripping at shoulders, hips and waists with the impatience of individuals who had waited too damn long to let this happen.

Clarke buried her fingers into Bellamy’s hair, unashamed of how she selfishly undid the hard work he had put into taming it. Meanwhile, Bellamy’s hands mapped the expanse of her back and waist, shying away from exploring more daring parts of her body. In any case, Clarke was not cold anymore.

Caught in the moment, she gripped his hair harder than intended, and Bellamy moaned, _actually_ moaned against her lips. Shivering, Clarke trapped his lower lip between her own. Bellamy moved a hand towards the railing for support, and Clarke felt her lower back press against it, Bellamy trapping her between the hard wood of the railing and his impossibly warm body.

Like in the movies, everything else faded to hues of grey around them. They forgot about the existence of everything and everyone. They stopped hearing the vague pounding of the music’s beat inside. They missed the sound of the door opening and heels clicking against the wooden porch.

“Oh, wow. Sorry.”

Both of them instantly tore away from each other, turning hazy startled looks towards a very stunned Octavia.

The latter chuckled awkwardly.

“I was just… coming to tell you the first dance was being announced. But please, don’t let me interrupt. Carry on.”

And with an odd, undefined wave of her hands, she rushed back inside.

Clarke, petrified, blinked a few times in disbelief, before she aimed her eyes back at Bellamy, who did the same.

The sight before her was the very image of debauchery. Bellamy’s hair on one side of his head stuck out at impossible angles. His shirt, previously perfectly tucked into his pants, was now wrinkled and pouched in places. The best part was, his mouth was entirely smeared with lipstick, in a vulgar display of marked territory.

If the way Bellamy glanced at her was any indication, she did not look much better.

Clarke was overwhelmed with a sudden flow of conflicting emotions. Her mind kept going back to how cold it felt all of a sudden. Bellamy seemed just as lost.

Eventually, he coughed, tucking his shirt back into his pants.

“We should… probably go back inside,” he uttered awkwardly.

“Yeah,” she replied with an equal amount of unease, flattening the shimmery fabric of her dress with her palms.

Bellamy raked his fingers through his hair, recreating a vague appearance of order, and straightened his tie. Then, with a hesitant smile, he made towards the door.

Clarke gripped his wrist to stop him, suddenly giggling uncontrollably.

“You can’t go like this.”

Bellamy gaped at her, confused. She pointed at her mouth, and then his. “Your lips. They’re covered in lipstick.”

Bellamy stared, mouth agape, before he raised a tentative hand to his lips. When he peeked and saw the red stains that had transferred onto his fingers, he blushed.

“Wait,” Clarke said, reaching for the tiny clutch purse she wore with a chain across her shoulder. It was so small, it only contained three things—her phone, her lipstick, and travel-sized make-up wipes. She pulled out the latter item, extracting a wet sheet from the package before stuffing the rest back into her purse.

She stepped towards Bellamy, whose breath audibly caught in his throat. Pretending not to notice, she rose a hand with only slight hesitation, and delicately slid the wipe against his lips and mouth. Not once did his eyes leave her face as she executed the task. She found herself having to clean lipstick all the way down to his chin—clearly, she had gotten a little excited there. The thought only upped the temperature of her burning cheeks.

When she was done, she carefully folded the wipe in half and handed it to him. When he frowned in confusion, she pointed at her own lips, which were sure to be smudged as well. Comprehension dawned on him and he took the wipe from her hand.

More delicately and attentively than she would have anticipated, he cleaned the lipstick off her skin, carefully following the contours of her lips as he did so. His other hand held her chin softly, and the contact sent embarrassing shivers down her spine.

When he finally lowered his hands, she took back the wipe and slipped it into her purse. Then, she met his eyes again, and they nodded in unison.

They made their way back inside.

o0o0o

The tables had been cleared to make way for a dance floor. When Clarke and Bellamy entered the room, Miller and Jackson were already dancing, with everyone watching them fondly. They rejoined the crowd as inconspicuously as possible, ignoring Octavia’s repeated furtive glances.

The newlyweds’ first dance ended, and more people started moving towards the dance floor. Clarke and Bellamy stood back, with a safe distance of two feet between them, unable to even look at each other. Bellamy’s hands were stuffed into his pockets as he eyed the floor, and Clarke fiddled with her fingers as she watched the couples dancing.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a hand awkwardly outstretched her way. She looked up to see Bellamy looking at her, albeit not at her eyes. Silently, he invited her to dance.

Relief washed over her as she tacitly took the hand offered to her. He led her amid the other dancing couples and slipped a hand just above her hip, raising their other clasped hands at shoulder height. She placed her remaining hand on his shoulder, and she let him lead her through simple steps. She did not know what to say, so she said nothing. She gazed at him silently, and this time he looked right back. So intensely, in fact, that she could no longer hold his gaze after a long, painfully electric minute. Her cheeks and scalp were burning and she felt sweat forming on her skin.

She rested her head against his chest and shoulder, closing her eyes to blot out the people around then. She felt him rest his cheek against the top of her head, and the whole setup was too comfortable to make sense.

She did not understand what was happening exactly. All she knew was that she did not want to be here, in this crowd of people anymore.

She wanted to leave. With Bellamy. As soon as possible.

o0o0o

The ride home was silent, and tense in ways Clarke had never experienced before.

She had experienced angry tension plenty of times with Madi, and even with Bellamy himself. Silent sulking was something she could wrap her head around.

This, however, was nothing like it. They did not speak a word the whole time, and yet the air in Bellamy’s truck felt suffocating, excessively warm, and awkward. They did not talk, did not look at each other, did not sing along to the radio as they usually did. It was like they knew that, if they did, they would lose all control. They could not responsibly do that in a moving car.

Out of a tacit agreement, Bellamy parked the truck in Clarke’s driveway. Only then did he finally look at her. He looked nervous, unsure. There was a clear question in his uncertain eyes.

Clarke knew full well what he was asking. Her throat was tying itself into complex sailing knots. She was unable to speak a single word, and all she could muster was a nod.

It was all Bellamy needed to turn off the ignition and quietly get out of the car.

o0o0o

Her keys were shaking in her hands as she scrambled to find the right one. The night air was cold out on the porch, but she only truly shivered when she felt Bellamy’s fingertips tracing shapeless patterns against the naked skin of her neck. It was delicate, tender, and it burned like fire.

She grew more frustrated with her keys as those fingers slipped under her loose collar, pulling on the material of her dress to uncover part of her shoulder. Soon enough, his fingers were replaced by his lips, leaving the softest trail of butterfly kisses along her shoulder and up her neck.

She finally got her hands on the right key and nearly stumbled inside as soon as the door was unlocked.

Bellamy followed quietly in her steps, and closed the door behind them.


	18. Spanish Psychological Thrillers of the Paranormal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, we're back.
> 
> After the last chapter's steamy events, we still have a few more chapters to get through before it's the end. Hope you're ready.

Clarke was pulled out of her nebulous dreams and back into the waking world by A.L.I.E.’s piteous whining outside her bedroom door. As she awoke, the angles and corners of her room’s walls and ceilings took shape through the blur of her blinking eyes.

She sighed and drowsily stretched her sore limbs across the expanse of her fresh cotton sheets. Her shoulder hurt more than strictly normal, and she hazily wondered what she had done to it overnight. As consciousness slowly filled her mind, she noticed how widespread the soreness was across all of her joints. Could it be the crash wounds resurfacing? Besides the pain in her knee, she had been fine for weeks. Why now? What had she done?

She froze when her foot grazed against a strange, hairy leg. Her eyes flung open and the memories flashed back to her mind at once. Bellamy’s mouth on her lips, her neck, her chest. His hands undressing her, tangling in her hair, exploring every inch of her skin.

She turned her head in fearful hesitation, and there he was next to her, fast asleep on his back, his head angled towards her, harbouring an innocent expression of peaceful vulnerability.

The previous night, Clarke had repeatedly applied lipstick as a nervous mechanism on the ride back home. It had been a way to keep her hands busy and pretend she was vaguely in control of her nerves. This morning, her lipstick was all over Bellamy’s mouth, neck, chest and shoulders. She thought she could see traces of it on his hands and arms as well. She felt quite certain more could be found in rather more unspeakable places. The sheets carelessly strewn over his body covered most of the evidence.

Now painfully awake, she lazily rubbed her eyes with a sigh, before returning her gaze to the man sleeping next to her. She was tempted to watch him sleep, to drink in the sight of him in her bed, looking so tranquil and vulnerable.

And hot. He looked hot. Bellamy was an attractive man, that had never been a question. His galaxy of innumerable freckles glowing in the sun had been a source of frustration in the early days of their acquaintanceship, because he had been an idiot asshole to her then, and idiot assholes did not deserve to look this good.

Well. The gorgeous asshole was in her bed now. Life had one hell of a sense of humour, sometimes.

On the other side of the door, A.L.I.E. grew more impatient and resorted to scratching the wooden door frantically. Next to Clarke, Bellamy stirred. The features of his previously serene face scrunched up in displeasure and he sighed slowly and deeply before groggily opening his eyes.

His dark pupils locked with hers, and time froze alongside their suddenly nerve-riddled bodies.

“Hi,” she whispered shyly.

He smiled. “Hey.”

Almost immediately, Bellamy relaxed. His eyes mapped her appearance in the hazy morning light, as if to better remember the events of the previous night. When his glance landed on her face once more, he bore none of the hesitant discomfort Clarke would have expected from him. Instead, he smiled contentedly, lifting a lazy hand to brush a strand of unruly blonde hair out of Clarke’s forehead, as if it were the most natural thing to do. His hand then found its nest in the nook of her neck and shoulder, tickling the skin with the tips of his fingers. She shivered under the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered longingly.

Clarke suppressed the tickling sensation in her chest, instead rolling her eyes and huffing sarcastically.

“Well gee, if I had known you were into the disheveled, eye-booger type, my morning routine could have been made so much simpler.”

Bellamy’s smile only widened at the dismissive joke, taking on a mockingly knowing nature which only spurred Clarke to worry about what was crossing his mind.

“Why?” he asked in that same soft, sleepy voice. “Were you trying to seduce me before?”

Clarke mustered the most unimpressed expression she could bring about. Internally, her guts twisted in embarrassment.

“That’s not what I meant.” The words rushed out of her mouth a little too unnaturally.

Bellamy’s smile did not let up as he propped himself up on an elbow and rose to kiss her. Clarke playfully moved her lips out of the way.

“Nope. Bad breath.”

“Don’t mind,” Bellamy mumbled in response, persevering in his attempt to pull her closer.

She resisted. “I mind. There’s a new unopened toothbrush somewhere in a bathroom drawer. Use it.”

Bellamy sighed loudly as he let his weight drop heavily back onto the mattress. He rubbed his eyes clumsily, before gathering up the energy to sit up and rise out of bed. He did not bother slipping on clothes as he made his way to the bathroom, which elicited a new bout of embarrassingly prudish blushing on Clarke’s cheeks.

When he disappeared into the bathroom, Clarke pushed the sheets aside so she could sit on the edge of her mattress. She ruffled her hair with both hands, hoping to shake off the pillow’s imprint. Before she could get herself on her feet to attend to her own hygiene, she heard Bellamy swear in the distance, presumably having seen himself in a mirror.

His voice erupted from the bathroom in outraged bursts of awakened indignation.

“Don’t they sell waterproof lipstick nowadays?”

Clarke chuckled as she slipped on a pair of underwear.

o0o0o

Following an embarrassingly long make-out session, which had devolved into further debauched activities in Clarke’s bed, they eased into a domestic morning routine like many they had had before.

Clarke cooked some eggs and bacon while Bellamy grated potatoes for hash browns. Once or twice, she felt his arms wrap around her waist and his lips kiss her neck. She allowed the exhibition of affection for a moment, secretly basking in the ease of the gesture, before she ushered him away to get to work again. This morning felt too eerily perfect to let unattended bacon grease burn their giddy distracted selves.

Eating breakfast together felt normal. So much of their daily lives had been shared before, none of it seemed out of the ordinary. Except, of course, for the way their fingers laced over the smooth surface of the kitchen island, or the way their eyes silently met once and again, each time spurring them to lower their gaze with a sheepish blush.

When Madi returned home in the early afternoon, Bellamy was still around. The teenager greeted him casually, eyes strained on her latest Instagram updates as she mechanically made her way over to her room to drop her bags.

When she returned to the kitchen to ask about the wedding, both adults instinctively slipped into customary behaviour, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Their eyes met behind Madi’s back, and there was a tacit agreement not to say anything about the latest developments in their menagerie.

Not yet, at least.

Now was simply not the time.

o0o0o

Octavia turned up on Bellamy’s doorstep a few days later. Her bike was giving her trouble, and Bellamy was her go-to vehicular mechanism expert whenever such hiccups occurred.

Of course, she also had another rather more self-serving agenda in mind with this visit, one more prying-oriented, and Bellamy knew it. When he opened the door, he could barely look her in the eye, knowing exactly was she was thinking behind that unnaturally wide, inquisitive smile.

“Hello, _brother_ ,” she greeted demurely, and Bellamy knew he would hate every minute of this interaction.

He grabbed his jacket and met her outside, where her bike lay casually on the lawn. He went to get his tools in the workshop, and she gave him a quick rundown of the issues—the chain was making a strange noise, and gear shifts were feeling bumpy. The explanation gave Bellamy a short grace period during which he could focus on work.

Unfortunately, as soon as he got to work, Octavia started eyeing him with willful intent, which he could see clear as day, even from the corner of his eye.

“So,” she finally worded. It came as both a relief and a renewed source of dreadful apprehension. If they could just get through this awkward chat and be done with it, then maybe Bellamy could go back to his day and pretend this was but a blip on an otherwise pleasant day. “Miller and Jackson’s wedding, huh.”

Bellamy grunted in response, focusing even more intently on the bike. Octavia’s smile widened.

“It was sweet, wasn’t it?” she insisted with a ridiculous pretense of innocence, beating around the bush as if she were on a particularly mediocre episode of _Gossip Girl_.

“Yep, very sweet,” he replied matter-of-factly. Still, he did not take his eyes off the bike nor halt his repairs. He held on to the hopes that Octavia would run out of patience before he did.

He underestimated her, as always.

“They’re such a great couple.”

“Yep.”

“It’s like, it’s _really_ inspiring, isn’t it?”

“Totally.”

“It makes you want to have that too.”

“I guess.”

“It looks like you had a good night.”

“Sure.”

“A _really_ good night.”

Bellamy sighed audibly, dropping his tools on the grass a little more abruptly than the situation called for.

“Can you just get to the fucking point?” he lamented in tired irritation. “This is exhausting.”

Octavia gave him a respectfully approving nod. “Alright.” She settled more comfortably on the pliable chair she had drawn from the deck. “You and Clarke, huh?”

“What about us?”

“Oh, sorry. I thought we were doing this _getting to the fucking point_ thing. But if we’re doing this _I don’t know what you’re talking about_ act, lemme catch you up. First, you guys flirted scandalously in front of everybody all night. Then, you made out like horny teenagers on the inn’s back porch, and later danced so amorously that you put the actual grooms’ first dance to shame. You left way too early, together. And yes, I know you _came_ together, but nowhere did it say in that fine print that you had to leave your truck parked in Clarke’s driveway all night.” She raised a finger in warning before Bellamy could interrupt. “ _No,_ I did not spy, we just passed by here on our way home later that night. And then, in the morning, I biked to a meeting in town, and your truck was still there. Pure coincidence. I am just saying, you’re not fooling anybody. So, can I at least get the crunchy details?”

Bellamy scratched his forehead, more so as a ploy to shield his face than as a genuine bodily response to itching. He exhaled deeply, before finally lowering his hand. Direct eye contact was not made, but Octavia knew it what the most open stance she could hope for coming from him.

“There’s not much to tell,” he admitted weakly.

Octavia huffed amusedly. “There’s _plenty_ to tell! Like, how was it?”

Bellamy winced in disapproval. “I am _not_ giving you the details of my sex life.”

“Ha!” Octavia punched the air gleefully. “So you had sex! _Halleluiah!_ ”

Bellamy lifted his forearm to wipe the inexistent sweat off his brow, which was really another attempt at hiding his discomfort. It failed miserably at discouraging Octavia from pursuing her line of questioning.

“So are you guys together now?”

Bellamy sighed once more, and his expression of helpless perplexity was disarmingly authentic.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“It means, we haven’t talked about it.”

“Why?”

“ _O._ ” He looked her directly in the eye as he spoke in vexed tones. There was a finality to his words, even though he did not sound angry per se. “I don’t know.” And that was the end of it. There was nothing more he could offer.

Bellamy’s exasperation was never reason enough for Octavia to stop nagging, but in that particular instance, his impatience stemmed from deeper insecurities which Octavia did not understand, but knew him well enough not to mock.

When she smiled in response, it was with kinder undertones. There were boundaries she knew she had to respect when it came down to it.

“Okay.” She whispered gently. “It’s okay, you don’t have to know everything right away. I am just, really happy for you, Bell.”

Bellamy nodded awkwardly and returned his attention to Octavia’s bike.

o0o0o

Bellamy spent a lot of time over at Clarke and Madi’s house.

It was not unusual, however. It had become a second home for him a long time ago. He still slept over at his house, and tried to be reasonable in the amount of time he spent with them. It was unclear whether Madi sensed anything different between the two adults. Her regular demeanour around them was roughly the same. Most of her attention was generally directed at her phone, and she interacted with them in the same way as before. If she noticed anything different, she did a marvelously good job of hiding it.

All three of them would regularly have dinner together. They chatted, joked and argued with the familiar comfort they had developed over the years. In a way, not much had changed at all.

Except, when Madi retired to her room, the remaining two would eye each other in a strange mix of shyness and defiance. Fingers would touch, toes would adventure up ankles and legs. When it was Clarke’s turn to wash the dishes, Bellamy approached her predatorily, slipping his hands against her hips, her waist, her breast. He kissed her neck until she could no longer hold it in and swirled around to kiss him keenly and hungrily, as if she had been waiting for this very moment all day. And maybe she had.

Whenever they heard a sound—be it A.L.I.E. tip-toeing around the living room or Madi lazily dragging her feet to the bathroom—they pushed each other away abruptly and anxiously, like forbidden lovers on the verge of getting caught.

They never did get caught, but their hearts raced with surging adrenaline after each close call.

They could not decide whether it was thrilling or terrifying.

o0o0o

One evening of early November, Clarke finally convinced Madi to have a movie night with her, just the two of them, for old times’ sake.

If she had thought convincing Madi was the hard part, she quickly realized how wrong she had been. Choosing the movie itself proved a much more challenging affair. Clarke almost lost Madi to angry stomping when she initially attempted to select the Kids section of her Netflix account, but she reeled her back in when she offered to whip up hot chocolates with marshmallows. Some things, you never outgrew.

They still had to choose a movie, though. Documentaries made Madi pretend-snore until Clarke theatrically deplored the lack of intellectual curiosity in her daughter. Sports movies sounded as interesting to Clarke as an acupuncture session with a boxer, and romance movies made Madi want to barf out her blooming feminist ideals. They briefly veered into the horror section, only for Clarke to declare them inappropriate, to which Madi could only roll her eyes in annoyance. Historical movies were rejected by Madi, who did not want movie night to turn into a school night. Comedies were deemed a crime against Clarke's IQ. Half an hour later, they had made exactly zero progress.

Madi eventually snatched the remote from Clarke’s hand and rebelliously sought out the horror section. Her attention hovered over the different titles, pausing at a few to read descriptions, moving on each time with no spark of interest.

When she landed on a Spanish psychological thriller about paranormal visions, she chuckled lightly.

“Bellamy would like that one.”

Clarke, who had given up on trying to veer her daughter towards better genres, smirked in amused agreement. “He would.”

“We should add it to our list. We can watch it with him next time.”

Clarke raised a dubious eyebrow in her daughter's direction. “You want to invite him to our next movie night?” They had not even settled on a movie, and Madi wanted a repeat? Clarke considered this an instant success. Although, _of course_ Madi found the idea appealing so long as it involved Bellamy. “Don’t you think he’s already over here a lot?” she joked, poking Madi’s side with her elbow.

Madi snorted. “You say it like that’s a bad thing.”

“Well,” Clarke attempted diplomatically, “people need their space, sometimes. That’s just healthy.”

Madi seemed utterly unimpressed by the assertion as she continued to browse Netflix’s selection of scary movies.

“Why would he need space? He’s not with Echo anymore.” Her tone was matter-of-factly, and Clarke could not help but smile at Madi’s plain lack of emotional intelligence in certain situations.

Madi had never hidden her dislike for Echo, and had also not bothered to veil her satisfaction when learning of their break-up. Part of Clarke disapproved of Madi’s insensitivity, while another found her reaction inexplicably pleasing. Clarke felt ashamed of that latter, rather selfish part of her. She had never considered herself a jealous person. It was not a good look on her.

For obvious reasons, another surreptitiously overarching part of her psyche felt acute guilt and anxiety whenever Bellamy’s love life and participation in their family life was mentioned. Madi was still being left in the dark when it came to Clarke and Bellamy’s behind-closed-doors goings-on. While Clarke had her reasons for not wanting to rush into big reveals—she felt her reservations were justified—it also felt deeply, painfully wrong to lie about it, even if by omission.

When Clarke attempted a casual response to Madi’s question, she could not quite ascertain what her true intent was as she insisted, “He could have another girlfriend in the future.”

Madi immediately scrunched up her nose in displeasure.

“Why?” the girl asked with startling naivety for her age. “Things are good with the three of us. Why would he need someone else?”

Clarke knew Madi well enough to understand that she did not mean anything in particular by this comment. The phrasing was not meant to imply anything untoward. Still, Clarke sensed that this was her opportunity. She could test the water, see how Madi would feel if… well, if she found out that Bellamy _did_ have a certain someone in his life, and one much closer to home this time.

Clarke adopted her most casually playful tone for it.

“What are you implying here?” She nudged Madi exuberantly. “Are you saying Bellamy and I are like a couple?”

Clarke expected a roll of the eyes or a dismissive scoff. Instead, Madi glanced at her pensively, with the vaguest hint of a frown.

Visibly, the idea had not even crossed her mind before then. It took the girl by surprise, and instead of dismissing it as a preposterous stretch, she was actually evaluating it, weighing it carefully in her mind.

Then, as quickly as she had started, she returned her attention to the TV screen, having now made up her mind about it.

“No, that’d just be weird. Like, can you imagine? If you guys broke up, it’d get so awkward, and it wouldn’t be the same after that. Things are good now. Wouldn’t want that to change.”

Hours later, as they each slept in their respective rooms, Clarke stared blankly at the ceiling, overrun with sudden anxiety, unable to sleep until the early hours of the morning. No matter how hard she tried, the thought never stopped nagging at her, until all she could think about was how she was making a terrible, terrible mistake.

 _It’s not a mistake_ , she argued to herself.

The more time passed, the less convinced she felt.

o0o0o

“We can’t do this.”

It was eleven-thirty at night. Madi was in her room, and Bellamy was cleaning the stovetop after a delicious dinner featuring his famous pesto lasagna. The night had been great, and Clarke had managed to enjoy absolutely none of it.

She whispered the words at the culmination of her anxious guilt trip of the evening. Bellamy stilled and raised puzzled eyes in her direction.

“What?”

“We can’t… keep doing this. Sneaking around, lying. It’s not fair to Madi.”

Bellamy frowned. His response was hesitant. “Do you… want to tell her?”

Clarke winced. “I don’t—” She sighed. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Bellamy’s right eyelid twitched. He blinked it away, keeping his composure as his breathing most undoubtedly hitched in his throat. Clarke felt the urge to keep explaining.

“I mean… this is great right now, but what of the long term? What if we make it official, Madi gets invested, and then we break up and never talk to each other again. Madi would be heartbroken. She loves you, she needs you in her life. We can’t do that to her.” She paused. “We can’t be selfish.”

Bellamy lowered his eyes back to the dirty stove halfway through her explanation. He was trying hard to stay calm, to stay strong, Clarke could see it. What she could also see was his hand shaking around the humid rag, and the redness spreading on the freckled skin of his face. She had expected him to get angry, to question her fervently. Instead, he looked like a porcelain doll about to break. And she felt like the worst asshole in the world for making him feel that way. At that very moment, she wondered whether she had underestimated how much he cared about her, how much he cared about this. Deep down, she had thought it was mostly her. She could live with her own pain, that she knew without an ounce of doubt. She was not so sure, however, that she could live with herself for inflicting it onto Bellamy.

Suddenly, she questioned everything. Screw it, they would make it work. Madi would understand. They could ease her into it. Maybe they did not have to end it. She could tell him to forget it, to forget she had said anything. She could tell him to kiss her, and everything would be fine.

Before she could break, however, Bellamy straightened his posture with renewed resolve.

“Okay,” he uttered simply, with a heavy heart. “You’re right.”

He spoke the words as if they hurt his lips to speak. They hurt Clarke’s heart to hear.

“Yeah, it’s for the best,” she added, to convince herself as much as him.

“For the best,” he confirmed.

Bellamy cleaned up the stove expeditiously and later made up a flimsy excuse to leave in a hurry. He grabbed his jacket and quietly made for the door. Clarke waved at him as he crossed the threshold.

He did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry?


	19. Roaming Bobcats and Grandfather Clocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Chapter 18 proved quite controversial. And I expected nothing less.
> 
> When your ship gets together and there are still 5 more chapters to go, you shall always feel very, very worried.
> 
> Patience, little ones. Patience. All in its own time.
> 
> Also, on a side note, I've learned this week that I've been using the wrong spelling of "per se" my whole life. Ensued the to-be-expected existential crisis of a failed English major.
> 
> Rough.

Things between Bellamy and Clarke in the following days were tense, to say the least.

It was not that they were angry with each other per se. In truth, they were neither spiteful nor begrudging. It was just that, everything had changed, and irreparably so it seemed.

Bellamy no longer came over to their house unless strictly necessary. Clarke no longer felt welcome in Bellamy’s home either. Seeing as it had been a while since their last triage session in his house, Clarke had seen it as an opportunity to reinfuse normalcy into their shared existence. She sent a text offering to schedule another session in the near future, so they could get to work on the bane of his existence: the guest room. Bellamy refused, citing a weak unconvincing excuse.

When they did see each other, they acted like uneasy strangers. Their easy family dynamic of the past months and years was dissolved in what appeared like the snap of a finger, and nothing could seemingly bring it back to the way it was. Clarke supposed it would pass. She really, really hoped it would.

Madi evidently noticed something was up. Overnight, the comfort of their familial routine was flipped upside down. She would have had to be blind not to notice. It took three days for her to ask Clarke why Bellamy never ate dinner with them anymore. Clarke wrought up a spontaneous answer which failed to satisfy. Madi asked Bellamy the same question, and his answer was different. After that, she sulked from the adults for days. If they did not trust her to be mature enough to hear the truth, then she would not act like an adult at all.

The following week was unpleasant for everyone involved.

o0o0o

It was mid-November when Madi started a reasonably eloquent conversation with Clarke again. Its purpose: request permission to invite Jordan for dinner.

Clarke tried deciphering Madi’s intentions behind the request. Either this was her way of seeking revenge on Clarke for whatever she had done to push Bellamy away, or this was a genuine attempt at introducing a potential future boyfriend into their familial equation. Either way, Clarke was in no position to deny her what she wanted.

Hence, Jordan was invited to Saturday night dinner in the Griffin-Heda household. Of course, this was not the first time Madi had friends over. Charlotte regularly came over for dinner, and even Jordan had visited before, although always in combination with Charlotte, and never over dinner. This felt different, and this felt important. Clarke had mixed feelings about the event.

Clarke supposed this was where she had to play the role of the warm, welcoming mom. She had always displayed a congenial behaviour towards Jordan in the past. The boy was polite and well-behaved and gave no reasons to act any differently around him. On this particular occasion, however, Clarke sensed too much gravitas to act relaxed. She could not prevent the burst of protectivity that oozed out of her and made her scrutinize Jordan cautiously and near defiantly all night.

Jordan attempted a few jokes, which all fell flat. Later, when the teenagers retired to Madi’s room, they did so under Clarke’s watchful eye. The door remained open, and Clarke found many reasons to perambulate around that area of the house.

At some point, she heard Jordan’s distant whisper emerge from the room, unknowingly within earshot of Clarke herself.

“Your mom’s kinda scary,” he confessed with a shaky voice.

Clarke smiled with disobliging satisfaction. Damn _right_ , little boy. Damn right.

o0o0o

“So, I hear you terrorized our boy.”

Clarke’s eyes flitted to meet Harper’s. The air of poorly veiled amusement on the woman’s face soothed the sudden burst of anxious worry the words had sparked in Clarke. Harper was not mad. Thank God.

This was their lunch break, and they were trying to quickly stuff as much food into their systems as they could before they had to rush back to work. Now would not have been a good time for a fight. Not that she ever wanted to fight with Harper. That woman was a good friend, someone who had been there for her in times she most needed it. Even though she distrusted her son Jordan’s intentions with Madi, it had nothing to do with Harper herself. Clarke would have felt the need to equally terrorize any boy in that context.

Plus, Harper could be quite scary, sometimes. Clarke did not particularly want to test the waters with an angry version of her.

Clarke smiled shyly. “Yeah, sorry about that. I may have acted a little overprotective.”

Harper broke into carefree laughter. “Oh please, feel free to put that boy in his place whenever you deem it appropriate. I can’t keep his teenage hormones under control all by myself. I already have a full-time job, thank you very much.”

Clarke chuckled, relieved that she had not antagonized one of her only friends.

Her unworried moment of levity was short-lived, however, and soon enough, Clarke was steeped in intent reflection.

“I have to say,” she told Harper after a brief pause, “I wish I could have your laid-back attitude around parenting. You’re such a great mom, and a cool mom at that. You earn respect without the nervous breakdowns. Meanwhile, I stay up all night whenever Madi comes home a _minute_ later than she said she would. I want her to be independent, to make her own choices, but I also can’t bear the idea of her leaving. Sometimes, I just wish I could _relax_ for a freaking minute.”

Harper eyed her dubiously, as if scanning for hints of duplicity or jest in Clarke's features. When she saw none, she snorted sardonically.

“Clarke, you’re a smart woman. You should know better than anyone that this whole ‘I-don’t-care’ approach is purely for show. Sure, I don’t want my son to grow so much of an ego that he thinks he is owed everything in life, but I’ll be damned if he doesn’t get _every damn thing in life_. And if something were to happen to him…” she halted briefly, which sounded to Clarke like Harper swallowing a sudden, treacherous knot in her throat. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

Clarke nodded slowly in dazed surprise. She had not expected that response, but she understood, of course she did. Hearing Harper mirror her thoughts came as such an unexpected relief. As it turned out, Clarke was not crazy. How reassuring.

She smiled sheepishly at Harper.

“I guess that’s the curse of being a mom, huh?”

Harper pursed her lips at the thought. “Or a dad. Geez, you should see Monty when Jordan doesn’t respond to his texts within five minutes.”

“I always sensed Monty was a helicopter parent.”

“He _is._ And so am I, but I have the self-respect to try and hide it.”

Clarke giggled at Harper’s dramatic mimics, and let her laughter ease her back into a comfortable smile.

“You two have a beautiful relationship,” she admitted in a soft contented sigh.

“That was years of hard work.”

“Somehow, I can’t imagine you two ever fighting.”

“Excuse me, have you met me? When we go weeks without fighting, I purposefully start handling DVDs with my dirty fingers just to rile him up. What can I say, I need the drama.”

Clarke chuckled. Harper was still Harper.

“How long have you been together?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

“We were high school sweethearts.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. But then he moved out of state for university and we broke up. The distance was too much, and we were so young. We had lives to live. So that’s what we did: lived our best lives apart from each other. I went to school in the city, I dated like a crazed middle-aged woman after her third divorce. Monty, he had a girlfriend in uni, and it got pretty serious, but then it ended when they graduated.”

Clarke rested a dramatic hand over her heart. “He came back here for you?”

“Well, he came back here for work. Or so he says, at least. His dad got him a good gig here and it was as good an excuse as any to come back home. Monty has always been a homebody. He claims I wasn’t a factor in that decision, and I respect that. Can’t have me get too much of an inflated ego.”

“So romantic,” Clarke teased.

“I know, I know. But I think part of me always knew we would find each other again.”

“Alright, never mind my earlier sarcasm. That _is_ romantic.”

“And you better not tell people about this. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Clarke smiled with mellow camaraderie. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Harper smiled back.

Clarke took a bite of her reheated pasta, while Harper munched on her sandwich distractedly.

“It sounds like you were meant to be,” Clarke finally admitted, like an afterthought of a conclusion.

“I don’t think I believe in Fate. But I guess I see what you mean. We were best friends first. That’s the only reason it’s working. Our marriage is a partnership, and it’s not always easy—god, it sure isn’t—but we’ve never stopped caring about each other. It’s not the butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of love anymore, but we’ll always love each other. Even if we divorced and moved away and could not talk to each other without throwing shoes at each other, I would still love him.”

“That’s impressive.”

“I guess. For us, that’s just our life.”

Clarke’s smile was both endeared and pensive as she gulped down the remnants of her lunch.

o0o0o

The knock on Clarke’s door was unexpected and insistent, that Friday night. She briefly wondered if Madi had lost her key _again_ , but the girl was at the movies with Charlotte and Jordan. She should not have been back until much later in the evening. Unless something had happened?

Instantly, her heart picked up its reeling-mom-thoughts racing pace, as she tried to rationalize why this was but a silly irrational thought to have at this time. Clarke swung the door open, and instead of Madi’s lazy blue eyes, she was met with Octavia’s defiant grey orbs.

“Oh, hi?” Clarke exclaimed in surprise.

She would normally feel delight at earning herself a visit from the Blake woman, whom she had grown deeply fond of over the years. Together, they shared a bond which admittedly paled in comparison to what Clarke had with Bellamy, but proved true and meaningful nonetheless. Every conversation with Octavia promised an entertaining mix of riotous sarcasm and unsettling wisdom.

Today, however, the woman’s hardened, unwavering eyes were fixated on her in threatening confrontation. They elicited a much different reaction in Clarke, of the concerned variety.

_Oh boy._ This could not be good.

“Hi.” Octavia responded dryly to Clarke’s greeting. Without artifice, she added, “Can I come in?”

Clarke’s smile wavered slightly, but she fought to keep some form of composure on her face.

“Of course,” she stuttered, stepping aside to let Octavia in.

Watching the brunette confidently making her way to the kitchen, Clarke’s mind raced with all imaginable scenarios explaining Octavia’s unannounced visit and currently cold attitude. In all honesty, Clarke supposed she had a bit of an idea as to why Bellamy’s sister was acting this way. She did not have to wonder for very long anyway. Octavia reached the kitchen island and, resting her elbows in a strange combination of casualness and intimidating watchfulness, she eyed Clarke intransigently.

“So, you and Bellamy.”

Clarke, whose shame had seeped through the lines of her facial features, attempted a weak smile. All she managed was a pathetic tug of the lips. She felt ashamed before having even said anything.

“So you heard.”

Octavia hummed, unimpressed. “I did.”

“And I take it you’re mad at me.”

Octavia hummed again. “I am.”

Clarke sighed. She raised a hand and rubbed her forehead, as if the gesture could ease her own thoughts back into place. It did not.

“Look, Octavia. I know this looks bad. But I hope you can believe me when I say I never wanted any of this to happen this way. I care about Bellamy, more than you can possibly imagine. Hurting him is the very last thing I would have wanted.”

Clarke could almost see the words forming on Octavia’s lips. _And yet that’s exactly what you did._ She met Octavia’s eyes with a plea that came off a lot more desperate than she intended. It wasn’t any less genuine for it, though. It seemed to destabilize Octavia just enough to halt the words before they could be said.

Octavia coughed and looked away. In the end, she only spoke one simple word.

“Why?”

Clarke lowered her eyes in turn. She was not sure she had the words to explain everything that was going on in her head.

“Madi,” was all she said. The simple name explained everything in her own mind.

“Bullshit.” Octavia’s response was a lot more abrupt than Clarke would have expected. Their eyes met again, and the fire was back in the younger woman’s gaze. “That girl loves you like no teenager in their right mind loves their mom. And we both know she worships Bellamy.”

The comment normally would have elicited a knowing smirk from Clarke, but today, she could muster no air of amusement. Octavia’s words stirred something in her which not only made her uncomfortable, but stung. They hurt, and Clarke felt she deserved that pain.

“I know,” she whispered weakly.

Octavia was not satisfied. Her anger had dissipated, but she repeated the question just as impatiently. “So why?”

Clarke was at a loss for words. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She felt her throat tighten as she admitted the truth.

“I don’t know.”

It came out in a whisper, and her voice cracked. Clarke was horrified to find her eyes tingle with the hint of incoming tears. As if all of this had not been embarrassing enough already. She was a grown woman, a single mother, a nurse, a survivor of so many shitty life hurdles, and yet there she was, crying at the slightest challenge of her emotions.

The truth was, she was scared. She could not fathom what she could be so afraid of, but she was. Her life had been so good these last few years, so much better than she ever thought possible after losing Lexa. What if she lost it all? A single tear sneaked out of her right eye and ran down her cheek. Then, a second and a third followed. She dared not glance at Octavia, but from the corner of her eye, she saw the other woman’s shoulders slump tiredly. She heard the brunette sigh in defeat, and pad quietly towards her.

Octavia wrapped her arm around Clarke’s frame, and the latter’s hands rose to softly rest on those welcoming shoulders.

“Damn it,” Octavia swore under her breath. “Not gonna lie, I came here to kick your ass for breaking my brother’s heart. But now I’m not sure how to feel about any of this.”

Clarke huffed cynically. “You and me both.”

“I think you might be as much of an idiot as he is, and that’s quite a feat.”

Clarke chuckled, but it ended up sounding more like a sob. “Oh god,” she groaned. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

She had cared so much about Bellamy’s friendship, the thought of losing it had seemed unbearable. And now, in a cruel twist of irony, he and Clarke could not even look each other in the eye anymore. They treated one another like distant relations at large family gatherings. They were not together, they were not friends. They had nothing.

When Octavia spoke up, her voice sounded a lot more soothing than ever before.

“Honestly, Clarke, I don’t think you _can_ ruin it. Whatever you do, Bell will always care about you.” She paused, and then added, “That’s great power you hold. Just don’t abuse it.”

Clarke nodded solemnly. She was not sure she agreed fully, but the words were comforting nonetheless.

And also simultaneously terrifying.

o0o0o

Madi did not sulk for long. She had never been skilled at staying angry, even when she desperately wanted to.

She had also never stopped helping out in Bellamy’s workshop, although their work routine had grown more silent in recent weeks. Really, the whole silent spell could only last so long before she grew tired of it.

One afternoon where Bellamy sensed her mood was lighter, he told her about the bobcat he had seen roaming in the woods the other day. Just like that, her motivations to sulk were all but forgotten. She asked for every single detail of the encounter—a reasonable person would have done so to devise proper protection measures against the threat of a bobcat attack, but Madi was obviously just jealous not to have seen it herself.

Bellamy did not have many details to share, however. He had seen the vague, distant shape of it moving behind the trees at night, from his bathroom window. He was, say, 78% sure it had been a bobcat. He had gone to investigate the next morning, and found paw prints that matched the feline’s description in the new layer of snow on the ground.

When Bellamy proposed they set up cameras around both of their houses to try and catch footage of the mysterious beast, the girl’s eyes lit up with excitement.

And just like that, they had a new project.

o0o0o

The grandfather clock in Charlotte’s basement was ticking loudly as the two girls quietly wasted away at their phones, each sprawled on their respective couch of the large—and conveniently deserted at this time—family room.

Following long minutes of near-complete silence, Charlotte attracted Madi’s attention by chuckling at something on her screen. Madi craned her neck to look, even though she was too far to see anything.

“What?” she finally asked, curious.

Charlotte shrugged nonchalantly. “Cat meme. You know me. Can’t resist.”

Charlotte handed her phone out to Madi so she could admire the mind-boggling intellect of the content she was consuming online. The picture showed two cats that seemed to give each other a quick peck on the lips, while a small kitten nearby gagged words like ‘yuk’ and ‘icky.’

“I _hate_ when my parents kiss in front of me,” Charlotte continued as Madi appraised the meme. “It’s just, _gross._ ”

Madi smiled as she looked back up at her friend.

“Wouldn’t know,” she said simply, handing the phone back.

Charlotte’s expression fell instantly, and Madi realized her words may have sounded more bitter than she had intended. She had never had the typical nuclear family, and sometimes, it slipped her mind how that did not meet people’s assumptions surrounding what a family had to look like. Sure, there had been her biological mom and dad, but they had certainly never been the lovey-dovey type. There had been Clarke and Lexa, but they had never been very demonstrative in front of Madi. They showed each other love in many ways, from hand holding to casual hugging, but they had rarely kissed in public. And then, Lexa had been gone, and there had been only Clarke.

Before Madi could stop her friend’s reeling guilt-trip, the latter melted into frantic apology.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t think. It’s like, I forgot or something!”

“Char,” Madi interrupted her with both hands raised, softly inciting her friend to relax. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean it that way. For me, having one mom is just normal. I forget it’s not, sometimes.”

Charlotte’s sorry demeanour did not disappear, even as she attempted to smile back. “I wouldn’t say it’s not normal. The heteronormative standard of traditional families is kind of outdated anyway.”

Madi rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Professor Charlotte.”

They both smiled this time, and then Charlotte lowered her eyes back to her phone’s screen. The moment appeared to be over, until Charlotte glanced back up towards Madi, looking like she was back to her normal joking self. She gave off an air of slyness as she formulated her next question.

“How about your mom and Bellamy?”

Madi frowned, failing to see the connection. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever seen them kiss?”

“Ew!” Madi exclaimed, her face scrunched up in sudden disgust. “No! Why?”

Charlotte was visibly taken aback by her outburst. She blinked a few times, before responding slowly, her tone implying that it should have been so very evident to her.

“I mean, because they’re clearly into each other.”

“ _What?_ ” Madi looked at Charlotte as if she’d had grown two heads in the span of the last few seconds. “No they’re not.”

This time, Charlotte stared at Madi pointedly, with a mixture of disbelief and sympathy.

“Dude,” she voiced softly but confidently. “They are. Like, were you not in the same room as us, that time they were getting ready for the wedding? They were _eating_ each other with their eyes. It was _so_ obvious. Even my dad made a comment about it later, and my dad is literally blind when it comes to things like that. Like, for the longest time he thought Jim and Pam were such a great couple of platonic friends on _The Office._ It’s embarrassing.”

Madi seemed confused on so many counts. “Who?” she asked, wincing as she processed all of that information. 

“Oh my god,” Charlotte sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re so uncultured. But never mind that. My point is, your mom and Bellamy want to bang, if they haven’t already.” She distractedly brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear as she lowered her eyes to her phone. “I guess you haven’t seen it because you’re too close to them or something.”

Charlotte awaited no answer from her to return her attention to her screen.

Which was good, because Madi had no answer to offer.


	20. Buried Sketches in the Laundry Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it took so long to update. It's been hectic, to say the least. With school about to start, it's the quiet before the storm.
> 
> Anyhow, here goes.

At first, Madi was angry.

No, not angry. _Fuming._

She could not believe that all of this had been happening behind her unsuspecting back. Now that Charlotte had pointed it out, however, it all made sense. Every piece of the puzzle fell into place, and she could see it, clear as day.

It explained why Bellamy had been spending more and more time at home, staying long after Madi had retired to her own room. It explained how Clarke and Bellamy had been acting around each other after the wedding. Madi had noticed a difference, but hadn’t been able to pinpoint what it was. She had given up before she could make sense of it. She supposed the wedding had been a turning point of some sort.

And then, it explained why Bellamy had stopped coming over, seemingly overnight. Why he and Clarke barely spoke anymore. They must have had a fight of some sort. A breakup, maybe.

Madi thought back to Clarke’s question, on that seemingly regular girls’ night. If Madi would want Clarke and Bellamy to be together. In the context at the time, it had seemed like an innocent enough question. It had not raised questions in Madi’s mind. She had naively dismissed it.

She was angry, because now that she was looking back on everything, she felt betrayed. She felt manipulated. She felt used. She had been lied to. She felt as if, more than once, her words had been extricated from her under false pretenses, and twisted against her will.

Many times, she wanted to walk up to Clarke and yell at her. Just yell, and get it out of her system.

But in the end, she did not know _what_ to yell. The exact justification of her anger was painted blurry in her mind. She could not put it in words. She felt confused above all.

Hence, she kept quiet about it. Even though none of this was right.

And she felt strangely responsible.

o0o0o

It was Bellamy she ended up turning to.

On a chilly afternoon after school, she spent the entire first hour of their working shift staring at him intently. Once or twice, he asked her what was wrong, and she uttered a weak ‘nothing’ in response.

Eventually, Bellamy grew impatient and snapped.

“Alright, either you come out with it, or you go home. You’re useless right now. If I wanted to be watched while working, I’d have set up cameras in here as well.”

Madi seemed unfazed by his outburst. She evaluated his words for a few slow seconds, before she finally said it.

Of anything Bellamy could have expected her to say, it would not have been that.

“Why did you lie to me?”

Instantly, her nonchalant front dropped, crumbling to a speckled wreck as she eyed him with sudden rogue desperation. This was a whole new brand of intensity, as she failed to hold back the dejection Bellamy would have hoped never to see on her. Especially not directed at him.

“What?” His voice was faint, lost somewhere in the void of his throat. He was confused, but also scared if the pit in his stomach was any indication.

“You and Clarke. Were you together?”

Bellamy’s vague frown melted into a loose expression of shock. Understanding dawned on his face. He said nothing. That was answer enough.

Madi scoffed. “And you didn’t tell me because…?”

Bellamy closed his mouth and lowered his eyes to the ground. He spoke with audible shame in his voice.

“Clarke— _we_ wanted to protect you.”

“Why? I am not a fucking kid.”

Bellamy’s eyes snapped upward, bearing the warning he normally set forth when telling her to watch her language. This time, however, he seemingly deemed the reprimand inappropriate. He let it slide, and lowered his eyes again.

“I know you’re not. We were just scared it would change things.”

Madi’s expression was impassive as she uttered her dreadful sentence. “Well, you’ve done it. Things have changed.”

Bellamy sighed with wincing pain. Nervously, he fiddled with the nail of his thumb, a tic Madi had not seen him revert to in a while. She was tempted to ease up and tell him it was alright, she understood.

Except, it was not alright. And she did not understand.

When Bellamy failed to respond, she continued. “I trusted you.” She uttered flatly. Bellamy met her eye once more. “I told you things. About my dad, my nightmares, my anxiety. Because I trusted you. I thought you trusted me too.”

Bellamy’s entire demeanour slumped even more, if that were even possible. “Madi…”

“Why didn’t you trust me?” This time, Madi’s voice audibly cracked, and she hated herself for it.

Her only saving grace was that Bellamy looked just as heartbroken as she was. These two had cultivated much pride in being able to withstand great pain with superhuman strength and unbothered detachment. And there they were, falling prey to each other’s own blows. And breaking, after all this time.

“ _Madi,_ of course I trust you.”

“Well,” Madi sniffed, looking up to the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “You have a really funny way of showing it.”

“Madi…” He leaned it, for emphasis. “You’re _so_ important. You and Clarke, you’re everything. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

Madi seemed torn between believing him and striking again. When she finally spoke, she had settled on subdued cynical irony. “So, you’re not talking to her because you don’t want to lose us?”

“I…” Bellamy sighed. His shoulders slumped a little deeper. “It’s been complicated.”

“It really doesn’t sound that complicated. If you want us in your life, then let us in, _damnit._ ”

Bellamy looked like he wanted to say something, and found no words. Instead, he nodded dumbly, admitting defeat. She was right. Madi knew it, and he knew it too.

None of that did anything to stop the tears from spilling over Madi’s cheeks, and she swore under her breath. She tried to turn away, to surreptitiously wipe them, but before she could even think of running away in shame, she felt Bellamy’s fingers carefully wrap around her wrist and drawing her in.

Madi did not consider herself a hugging person. Sure, she and Clarke had hugged plenty of times before, and she had hugged Bellamy too, more than once. This, however, felt different. He wrapped his arms around her, and keeping the strong front up seemed futile, all of a sudden. She sniffed loudly and let her body quake with quiet sobs, as he held her comfortingly, with love, and with need. She heard him sniffle too, and she pointedly failed to point it out.

Instead, she let her hands rise to his sides, wrapping her own arms around his chest.

And in that way, they held each other up against the crashing waves of disruptingly raw emotion around them.

o0o0o

The conversation haunted Bellamy for hours after the fact.

He had meant it—Madi and Clarke were important. He needed them in his life. And yet, like an idiot, he had shut Clarke out because, _what,_ his feelings had been hurt? Over a breakup that had not even been one in the first place? They had never made their relationship official. It probably did not even warrant the name of “relationship” at all.

Everything had happened so surreptitiously, so naturally. It had taken them by surprise, and neither of them had known how to react. All Clarke had wanted to do was to protect Madi, and if Bellamy could not understand that, then he did not deserve either of them.

There was no room for his ego in this. He needed Madi. He needed Clarke. And if he could not force the romance, he could at least stop being so darn stubborn.

Late at night, he sent Clarke a simple text.

_Triage session tomorrow at my house? Been meaning to tackle that ‘storage room.’_

It was the olive branch Clarke had been waiting for.

_Count me in! ;)_

o0o0o

As December rolled in, things seemed to return to a semblance of normalcy.

Bellamy started coming over to their house again, to fix stuff, make dinner, and sometimes for no apparent reason at all. Clarke dropped by his house when he asked for help, either with clutter triage or with his sudden bursts of anxiety, which had been resurfacing more often of late. That he had gone weeks without her support seemed outrageous now. It showed he could do it, sure. But that he would have put himself through the unnecessary torment of it in the first place was preposterous.

They did not talk about what had happened between them. They tacitly agreed to bury it and pretend it never happened. Instead, they returned to the familiar camaraderie of before. It was not exactly like it had once been, but they both supposed it would come in time. Any remnants of awkwardness would disappear, and everything would be back to normal again.

Madi watched it all unfold with aloof disapprobation. She did not miss the way they glanced at one another, whenever they thought the other was not looking. She did not miss the sheepish smiles, the awkward blushing after impromptu compliments.

Adults could be so obtuse, sometimes.

o0o0o

One freezing Tuesday night, Miller turned up at Clarke’s house with a murky aura that foretold distressing news.

He had kept an eye on Sheid’s case. He could not access all of the information in the system, but anything he could get his hands on without raising too much suspicion, he glimpsed at.

That was how he came to learn that Sheid had been released from prison a few weeks ago. Miller looked desolate as he informed Clarke that the man had gotten away with a fine and community service. Clarke should not have been so surprised. Sheid had always held a bizarre power of persuasion over people. No matter what kind of trouble he got himself in with the authorities, he wiggled his way out nearly every time. Clarke should have anticipated this to happen.

“It changes nothing,” Miller assured her. “The restraining order is still in effect. He can’t come near you.”

Clarke nodded with a smile. She fooled no one into thinking she was truly reassured.

o0o0o

That night, Madi turned up in Clarke’s bed in the middle of the night.

“I’ve had a nightmare,” the girl stated, simply.

Clarke nodded unquestioningly. She wrapped a comforting arm around her daughter’s waist, as the latter quietly snuggled against her.

Neither of them enjoyed much restful sleep that night, but in the other’s company, the hours dragged on with less dismaying relents of foreboding.

o0o0o

As per tradition, Bellamy helped them set up their Christmas decorations.

They went shopping for a tree, which they loaded into Bellamy’s truck and brought home to decorate. From the laundry room—where they resided in non-holiday months—were pulled the many boxes of decorations accumulated over the years. Madi held strong opinions about what a cohesive arrangement of ornaments looked like on a tree, so Clarke and Bellamy left her to execute her creative vision, while they unpacked the rest of the decorations.

Bellamy was rummaging through the mess of the laundry room, looking for the tree angel they could not seem to locate anywhere, when he zeroed in on an unidentified box in a corner. Thinking this might be another forgotten box of decorations, he pulled the flaps open, only to reveal a pile of boring-looking binders and paperwork. Noting that it was nothing remotely resembling decorations, he made to seal the box closed again.

Before he could, a wider and flatter binder caught his attention. It was so different from the rest of that box’s contents. It reminded Bellamy of those ridiculously oversized binders artists carried around in movies and TV shows. Except this one was much smaller, designed for small-sized sketches.

Bellamy knew Clarke had been an artist in another life. She had been an avid sketcher and painter in her youth, but she claimed to have stopped after her father’s death. She had never shown Bellamy any of her art, and he suspected she hadn’t shown anyone in a very long time.

Guiltily curious, he pulled the binder out from the box, expecting to find the clumsy sketches of a twelve-year-old Clarke.

Instead, he was met with sketches of Madi at fifteen years old, of A.L.I.E. playing in the yard, of Diyoza’s Jaguar, and of birds gravitating around Madi’s birdhouse. Those were recent. And they were _good._

Clarke coughed in the doorway. When he turned to face her unreadable expression, he forgot to even look apologetic for having pried.

“Did you draw these?” he asked in awed disbelief.

She seemed surprised by his genuine interest. Rather than adopting a disapproving look, she let her features morph into a display of awkward timidity.

“Yeah,” she responded airily.

Bellamy flipped the page to reveal another sketch of Madi working on the shed. Had she been discretely drawing these while no one was looking? Or had she drawn them from memory? Either way, he was floored.

“They’re amazing.”

Clarke seemed like she wanted to protest, but stopped herself before she could dismiss the compliment. That was one thing she had always had to fight against—the need to reject praise on her art. Letting people see it felt worse than walking around naked in public. That was also something Clarke had told Bellamy once. (He remembered.)

“Thanks.” She finally uttered, looking down at her feet.

She did not tear the binder from his hands. Her lack of protest felt like a silent invitation. Hence, he kept browsing, flipping page after page to reveal a sketch of A.L.I.E. sleeping in her little bed in the living room. A sketch of the flower bed Bellamy had arranged for them over the summer. Then, a sketch of Bellamy mowing the lawn. At that, he raised an amused glance towards Clarke.

She huffed. “What?”

“Were you checking me out?”

“ _Excuse_ me, this is art, don’t defile my craft with your perverse interpretations.”

He smiled lewdly, before returning his glance to the sketches. He flipped to a sketch of a moth flying around a night light. Then, a sketch of Bellamy, asleep in Clarke’s bed, glaringly naked.

Clarke snatched the binder out of his hands faster than Octavia executing muay thai kicks.

“Alright, well, that tree won’t decorate itself, won’t it?”

Clarke practically ran out of the laundry room, the binder safely tucked under her arm.

Bellamy smirked at the empty doorway long after she was gone.

o0o0o

Bellamy baked meat pies for dinner, claiming it was practice for the dish he was bringing to Miller and Jackson’s Christmas potluck on the 25th.

He tried teaching Madi how to make it, but she quickly lost interest when she realized how long it would take. Clarke stuck around, though, helping with the easier tasks, and paying genuine attention to his commentary as he cooked.

They ate in the midst of animated chatter and loud Christmas music. Madi smothered her dish with gravy while Clarke admonished her to eat more greens with that brown food. Bellamy slipped the saucer back to Madi when Clarke was not looking. He made sure his and Clarke’s glasses were always filled with wine, and ignored Madi when she argued she was basically an adult, now.

It was near midnight when Bellamy retired back to his home, a little—very—tipsy, and happy. Clarke waved him goodbye with an identical smile of peaceful content.

o0o0o

It was just a few minutes after midnight when Bellamy was at their door again.

When Clarke opened the door for him, ready to teasingly ask what he’d left behind this time, he looked solemn, and suddenly quite sober. He looked over Clarke’s shoulder and took note of Madi’s closed bedroom door. In a cautious whisper, he told Clarke they had a situation, and she should come and see.

She followed him outside, and immediately noted a strange putrid smell in the air. When she asked what this was, he only waved for her to come with him.

As soon as they made it past the trees delimiting their lawns, Clarke was served an unsightly scene, straight out of a horror movie. Earlier, the snow outside had looked magical, pure, and untouched. It had been an eerie scene of Christmas wonders and beauty.

Now, the pure whiteness of snow was smeared in large, vulgar blotches of blood and flesh. On Bellamy’s porch lay lumps of furry bodies—a skunk, a squirrel, two birds, and a handful of mice. All dead, and twisted into unnatural poses of permanent torture. There were feathers and detached limbs scattered across the bloody yard.

On Bellamy’s door was a note. Three words, clearly drawn in blood with shaky fingers.

_WATCH IT MATE_


	21. Faint Pink Smears in the Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got out of control. I considered splitting it in two. And then I thought, _nah..._ These readers have suffered enough. Give the people what they want.
> 
> Enjoy this 8,000-word monster.

It took everything in Clarke’s willpower not to spew out her entire day’s worth of food. Instead, she gaped at the scene until blinding red and blue flashes made her aware of the passing of time.

Only then did she retreat inside, before Madi felt tempted to come out and see what the commotion was all about.

Madi slept in Clarke’s bed that night. In truth, neither of them got any sleep. They watched the minutes succeed one another on the digital clock, until the sun rose again and nothing of the horrific scene remained but faint pink smears in the snow next door.

o0o0o

The clock on the stove read 6:37 AM when Clarke placed a fuming mug of coffee in front of Bellamy. She sat across from him at the kitchen island, her own mug in hand.

Neither looked particularly well-rested. Madi had fallen asleep around four, and she remained in Clarke’s bed for now, while the adults spoke in solemn whispers in the kitchen.

“It’s okay, Clarke,” Bellamy said softly, eyeing her over his mug. “I know guys like that. All bark, no bite.”

Clarke huffed cynically, sipping on her own coffee for a distraction. “We don’t know that. Guy has a history.”

“They’ll catch him.”

“We don’t know that.”

“They will.” He spoke with poised finality. He paused, and then added, “I won’t let him hurt you.”

At that, Clarke threw him a dubiously unimpressed glance. “Right. I forgot you’re Captain America.” She lowered her mug to the island, shaking her head in sudden impatience. “And why are you even comforting _me_? Your house was vandalized, for Christ's sake. There was a death threat on your door. I should be reassuring _you_.”

Bellamy shrugged dismissively. “I wouldn’t say ‘death threat.’ It was more like a warning.”

“Written in actual _blood._ ”

Bellamy shook his head disparagingly, rejecting her concern. He took another quiet sip of his coffee. When his eyes landed on her again, they bore the very intensity he alone could channel in this exact way. Clarke's strong front wavered against her will.

She looked away and sighed, mainly to hide her disconcertion. She smiled with empty humour.

“You really had no idea what you were getting yourself into, huh, taking us in three years ago? Bet you wish you hadn’t let that strange single mom with the bum’s jacket move in.”

She chuckled at the recollection. Bellamy did not.

Instead, he eyed her with the vehement confidence of someone who always fought for his own, teeth and nail. It was so warm, and yet so all-consuming a glance, it made it near impossible for her to hold his gaze. She tried, nonetheless.

Without a hint of a smile, nor the slightest sign of guilt, Bellamy reached for her hand over the cold surface of the island.

“No. I don’t.” He breathed in slowly, never once letting go of her gaze. “I was practically a dead man then. I am more alive now than I ever was. I have no regrets.”

The words were blunt, and yet painfully genuine. Clarke had no idea what to say to that. She smiled awkwardly and nodded.

She couldn’t quite explain it, but without an ounce of doubt, she knew he meant it whole-heartedly.

o0o0o

Bellamy and Madi never caught footage of the now mythical-sounding bobcat, in spite of their strategically placed cameras.

What they did get footage of, however, was Sheid vandalizing Bellamy’s house.

Bellamy turned in the cameras to the authorities. Not only was this proof of Sheid’s involvement in activities already quite illegal enough—animal cruelty and vandalism being merely the most obvious items on that list—but it also placed him in clear violation of his restraining order. No amount of persuasion on Sheid’s part could quite measure up to that.

Two days later, Sheid was arrested. This time, imprisonment was inevitable. It felt wrong to celebrate this as a victory, but both Clarke and Madi were relieved to hear of it. Even though they did not talk of it much, they knew Bellamy was relieved too. Not even for his own safety, but for theirs too.

“Thank you,” Clarke told him simply, as soon as Miller had left from delivering the news. She smiled with gratitude as she slipped her fingers into Bellamy's limp hand.

She did not need to say anything else. Bellamy smiled weakly, and she smiled back.

“Always,” he responded in a breathless whisper.

And that was all he needed to say as well.

o0o0o

A few days before Christmas, Octavia took Madi shopping, under the guise of needing each other’s advice. That way, Madi could get Clarke and Bellamy their presents without any disgraceful peeking occurring. In truth, however, they both knew it was for a well-needed change of scenery. Madi had not been sleeping well, and Octavia would be damned if she did not do everything in her power to keep that girl safe and well.

They were wandering through the aisles of their fourth bookstore in a row when Octavia dropped the question as casually as she could.

“So, how are you?”

It was not the first time Octavia had asked the question since the whole Sheid debacle. All of it was still so painfully recent, and yet, it felt as if there was no other choice but to move on. It was bound to feel distressing and overwhelming, but the thought of even talking about it was just as terrifying sometimes.

Each time Octavia asked, Madi provided the swiftest, least committing answer she could muster. Each time, it failed to convince.

“I’m good.” Madi kept her attention pointedly focused on some books strategically placed at eye level on the shelves.

Octavia raised an eyebrow, and Madi knew the judgmental motion was not aimed at the book the woman was distractedly flipping through.

“Really?” Octavia insisted, aiming for casual, and not very successfully so.

“Yeah, really.”

“Okay, well.” Octavia threw a quick glance at her over the book, but returned her attention to the object swiftly. “Just know that I am here if you ever feel less good.”

Even though the woman manifestly wanted to forcefully drag Madi’s feelings out of her and get her to talk, she also knew there was no point in relentlessly pushing her. It would only make her shut others out even more. There was nothing to do but be patient.

Madi felt grateful for that slight bit of understanding. In truth, she did not know if she would ever feel ready to talk about what had happened. She did not even know if she would talk to Octavia if she did. But she appreciated knowing that she was not alone, without being coerced into makeshift therapy. She supposed Octavia understood that kind of internalized solitude. The fierce woman rarely spoke of her childhood, if ever, but Madi had glimpsed enough over the years to infer that it had been a rough one. She supposed she could relate, in some ways.

Madi’s contentment was of course diverted when Octavia abruptly changed the subject in a much more devious direction.

“Alright, so how’s Jordan, then?”

Octavia did not need to wiggle her eyebrows for the disgraceful sentiment to be expressed nonetheless. Madi huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Nothing to declare.”

“ _Really?_ Nothing?”

“I mean, we’re friends.”

“I thought you were passed that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“What happened?”

Madi shrugged. “Not sure. Sometimes, it feels like things are right about to change, and then, it’s like we’ve taken three steps backward without me realizing it. It’s just too complicated.”

“Do you think he’s on the fence?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Or… maybe _you_ ’re on the fence?”

Madi angled her head just far enough for Octavia to note her pointed frown. “I’m not on the fence! I just can’t figure out what he’s feeling. Or what he’s thinking, for that matter.”

Madi expected a snarky remark from the older brunette. Instead, she earned herself a contemplative glance.

“Have you asked him?”

“Asked him what?”

“What he’s feeling.”

Madi huffed again. “You don’t just go and ask people what they’re feeling, O.”

“Well, maybe we should. It’d make things a whole lot simpler if people just _said_ things, instead of waiting for others to figure it out. I bet you he’s just as confused as you are.”

Madi was reluctant to agree, but she could see some level of sense in what Octavia was saying. She paused before answering.

“I guess you’re not wrong." She sighed. "But it’d still be weird.”

Octavia smiled sympathetically at that.

“Sometimes, people only need a little push.”

o0o0o

Christmas Eve was spent at home, with Clarke, Madi, Bellamy, Octavia and Lincoln.

Bellamy baked his meat pies, which would be saved for the Christmas Day party, while Clarke made grilled cheeses for everyone. Over the years, Clarke and Madi’s traditions had been altered to accommodate new social events, new invitations. New traditions.

Some presents were exchanged. Mostly Madi’s. She got books from Bellamy, new muay thai gloves from Octavia and Lincoln, and a classic car adult colouring book—for relaxation purposes, she insisted—from Clarke.

Madi gave all of them wooden creations of her own, mostly wall art and sculptures. Bellamy had once wondered where she had gotten that artistry from. That clearly had not been part of his teachings. It had become much clearer, over the years, that this was Clarke’s influence, albeit unconsciously so. Being raised by an artist, even if by one in denial, had to impact the way you viewed the world, Bellamy supposed. It was fascinating, really.

They all went to bed in the small hours of the night, Octavia and Lincoln opting to walk home after all that wine.

Bellamy was the last to leave. He helped Clarke wash the dishes and clean up.

He left with a friendly wave, which Clarke silently returned, a shy smile hesitantly tugging at her lips.

o0o0o

The next morning, Clarke and Madi enjoyed a few short hours of peace and quiet, sipping coffee and hot chocolate while watching cartoons, before Bellamy showed up and ushered the two of them into their pretty clothes and then into his truck. Together, they headed to Miller’s and Jackson’s house.

A feast awaited them over there. With Miller’s turkey and Jackson’s stuffing, Octavia’s mashed potatoes and Lincoln’s maple syrup dumplings, Bellamy’s meat pies and Clarke’s green salad, Emori’s guacamole and Murphy’s store-bought potato salad, Raven’s roasted Brussel sprouts and Shaw’s triple-layer dip, Harper’s cheese platter and Monty’s chocolate cake, there was enough for everyone to slip into a blissful food coma.

Music was played, people chattered away, and the wine flowed freely. Madi was in a corner keenly chatting with Jordan over something on the latter’s phone. Bellamy was talking to Miller at the table, with the manifest excitement he solely reserved for cars and fishing. Murphy and Emori were whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears on the couch, like a new couple in their honeymoon phase, and not people who had endured each other’s company for over five years already. Raven was in the kitchen washing dishes with Shaw, Harper and Monty. All four of them repeatedly chased Jackson away whenever he tried to weasel his way into helping. Octavia and Lincoln were nowhere to be seen.

Clarke sat alone on one of the couches, peacefully observing the scene before her. Sometimes, she still could not believe these were her friends now. Her crowd. Her people. Not too long ago, she had been so isolated in comparison. It felt surreal, how unostentatiously fast it had all changed.

She noted the approach of Jackson’s shadow before she felt his weight carefully drop into the couch cushions by her side. She turned to smile at him.

“No luck helping with dishes?” she asked amusedly.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Won’t even let me tell them where to put things. The tyranny, I tell you.”

Clarke chuckled. They both naturally eased into a comfortable silence.

Jackson was one of those people Clarke had never grown particularly close to, and yet, she never found his company awkward. He inspired ease and trust in a way she utterly failed to understand, but respected greatly. She could only hope to emulate a fraction of his aura as a nurse herself.

Glancing back at him, she noticed Jackson gazing fondly at Miller, who was now in a full-blown argument with Bellamy over an issue that would certainly be all but forgotten by dessert. Jackson only smiled more tenderly at the scene.

“Marriage seems to be going well,” Clarke commented with a soft grin.

Jackson glanced at her with a beaming air of loving certitude. “It is.”

“No new skeletons in the closet?”

Jackson snorted. “Miller is utterly unable to keep a secret. He has many flaws, but lying is not one of them. Really, it’s pathetic. He’s not one to open up easily, he’s a tough nut to crack that one. But in the end, he’s the most genuine, sweetest person I’ve ever known.”

Clarke thought back on her first impression of Miller. How he had seemed permanently gloomy and moody. How he spoke in mono-syllables and carried an air of constant annoyance around people he did not know. In many ways, he and Bellamy were quite alike. Both of them had surprised her, once she had gotten to know them. Clarke could not imagine what her life would be now, if she had never given them a single chance. The simple thought sent despondent chills down her spine. It seemed inconceivable now.

As she emerged from her thoughts, she noticed how Jackson was staring at her, seemingly evaluating her. Without knowing why, she blushed. She wanted to ask him what was on his mind, but he beat her to it.

“You know,” he uttered, sounding philosophical, “Miller will do anything for the people he loves. Sometimes, that’s scary. Most times, it means I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Clarke could not help the frown that faintly wrinkled her forehead. Jackson’s statement was out of context, or rather out of the blue. And yet, there seemed to be so much more to his words than he let on. She wanted to probe, ask about it, but something held her back. Maybe she was scared. Maybe she did not want to know what he truly meant.

Before she could muster up the brainpower to push any further—or change the subject ungracefully—he smiled and rose to his feet.

“Want more wine?” he offered casually.

“No,” she nearly stuttered. “I’m alright.”

Jackson nodded, and made his way back to the kitchen.

Clarke pushed the strange talk out of her mind for the rest of the afternoon.

o0o0o

It was late when they left the party.

They stayed until way after dinner, which had consisted of leftovers from lunch. Most of the guests had already left, and in spite of Clarke and Bellamy's protests, Miller and Jackson filled their unwilling arms with all the Tupperware containers they could hold.

In the car, Madi was dozing off in a matter of minutes. As soon as they reached home, she quietly hopped off and dragged her feet inside. Bellamy stayed back in the car, and so did Clarke. Neither of them spoke, the silence solely obstructed by the purring sound of the engine. When Bellamy finally turned it off, nothing but the oppressively calm night air was left between them. Both were seemingly waiting, for something neither quite understood.

Finally, Bellamy was the one to speak.

“I have something for you.”

Without further preamble, he reached behind the car seats and pulled out a grocery bag, folded to conceal its contents. When he opened it, he revealed a clumsily wrapped present. He handed it out to Clarke, who overcame her shock enough to state her discontent.

“I thought we said no gifts.”

“Yeah, well, I have been known to lie.”

Clarke sighed disapprovingly, but smiled weakly as she took the present from his hands. She delicately tore the wrapping paper, until what she had on her lap was an intricate-looking wooden box, which resembled those vintage jewelry boxes from antique stores. This was bigger, however, and heavier.

Clarke knew Bellamy was a skilled craftsman when it came to wood, but this looked different. Beyond the usual clean-looking finish and practical features, the box bore an unusual array of decorative details. The lid was the most impressive component, with elegant patterns carved into the wood, and the addition of two hourglass-shaped protrusions which contained actual sand that gracefully glided from end to end as Clarke tilted the box.

“It’s sand from the beach over at Lincoln’s cabin, and from the one where we fished. I know you enjoyed those places.”

Clarke glanced up from the unexpected offering and eyed him with unfettered awe.

“It’s amazing.” There was nothing more she could bring herself to say. She was speechless.

Bellamy shrugged dismissively. “Madi helped me with the artsy stuff. Not really my strength.”

None of Clarke’s awe faded as she brushed her fingers over the skillfully designed surface of the lid.

“There’s something inside,” Bellamy commented.

Piqued with curiosity, Clarke cautiously pushed the lid open. Inside was a wide array of expertly arranged art supplies, from paints to pencils to brushes. Small compartments had been carefully designed to fit the size of each item. Clarke recognized the brands. They were not cheap.

“Bellamy…” she near-whispered, now feeling as if she were out of breath. “This is too much.”

“It’s not.”

When she met his gaze once more, there it was—the intensity, the all-ensconcing presence. She was blinded by it, frozen into the moment.

Then, she remembered what she had meant to say, before she was too stunned to remember.

“Actually, I guess I lied too.”

She uneasily tore her eyes from his and reached for the inside of her bag. Out of it, she pulled a large rigid envelope.

“It’s not as fancy, so it feels a little silly now.” She handed it to him with sheepish hesitation, eyes fixated on her lap.

From the corner of her eye, she watched him pull up the flap of the envelope and slip out its content—a wide piece of thick sketch paper. There was a drawing on it, of all three of them. Clarke, Madi, and Bellamy.

It was based on a picture from last year, taken at Miller and Jackson’s Christmas party when they were not paying attention. It showed all three of them sitting on the couch, the same one Clarke had sat on today. Madi was in the middle, holding up her phone so that all three could see its screen. She was pointing at something with a grin, while the two adults joined in on her amusement with more reserved smiles. Clarke had her hand casually laid on Madi’s knee as she leaned in closer. Meanwhile, Bellamy rested an arm on the couch’s backrest, reaching behind Madi and Clarke with a relaxed familiarity. Octavia had taken the shot, and shared it with them later.

That was a year ago. It was insane, how far they had come since their first year of knowing each other, and since that Christmas last year, too. So much had happened. Clarke felt dizzy just thinking about it.

If Bellamy’s solemn silence was anything to go by, he felt the same.

She coughed uncomfortably, and that seemed to snap Bellamy back to reality. He cleared his throat and turned a genuinely touched glance towards her.

“It’s… really special.”

Under different circumstances, it would have sounded like the kind of response one gave when puzzled or unimpressed, when one did not know what to say without sounding impolite.

Bellamy’s words did not sound like that. He sounded uncharacteristically moved, more than Clarke would have expected. It was just a drawing, after all. It had merely been the best picture she had found of the three of them. She had roughly sketched the scene. It was nothing special in her eyes, but in Bellamy’s, she saw him more rattled than she ever could have anticipated.

“Thanks,” she replied awkwardly.

“No,” he retorted softly, yet firmly. “Thank _you._ ”

Not knowing what to say, Clarke smiled hesitantly. Bellamy did the same.

It seemed like a strange thing to do, given everything that had happened in the past months. But in the moment, it felt right. Clarke leaned in closer, slowly drawing closer to Bellamy’s space in the truck’s cabin. Bellamy froze, the hesitant shock clearly legible in his eyes as he watched her approach, unsure of what she was going for.

When her lips landed on his cheek, she could simultaneously hear and feel him sigh in relief. Or, at the very least, she assumed it was relief.

She left a slow peck on his rugged cheek, and smiled as she retreated back to her side. Bellamy smiled back shyly.

There was nothing they could think to say after that. They wished each other good night, and retreated to their respective homes.

o0o0o

The papers fluttered as they were neatly deposited on the cold surface of their kitchen island. Clarke raised a curious eyebrow in her daughter’s direction.

“What’s that?”

A faint smile pulled on a corner of Madi’s lips. It disappeared just as swiftly as it appeared.

“A letter.”

Clarke appraised the multiples sheets of paper stacked beneath Madi’s nervously fiddling fingers.

“A long one, it seems.”

“Yes, well. Finding the right words was hard.”

Clarke eyed Madi with a blend of intrigued amusement. Until she understood. And the smile faded from her own lips as well.

“It’s for Sheid,” Clarke stated in subdued disbelief. It wasn’t a question. Madi nodded.

“I…” The girl paused, gathering her thoughts. “I’ve been trying to act like I don’t care about him, that I haven’t thought about him in forever. But that’s a lie. The thought of him has been haunting me for a while. For too long. And I guess I needed to get this out of my system.”

A long pause stretched between the two of them. Madi grew visibly nervous, awaiting the verdict.

Faced with the pressure to react, Clarke smiled with motherly empathy. Smiling was the last thing she wanted to do right here and then, but she knew she needed to show Madi her support. Whatever she needed, Clarke would always be right behind her. Even if it meant facing her own demons.

Setting aside her judgment, Clarke opted for the forbearing question.

“What does it say?”

Madi was manifestly relieved as she answered.

“That I am not ready to forgive him. That maybe I never will be, but I want to. One day. If not for him, then for myself. Because I’m done letting him hold this kind of power over me.” Madi breathed in slowly. “It also says that I’m not sure I ever want to see him again. Maybe one day, maybe never. But in the meantime, I hope he learns to become a better person. And I hope he’ll respect our space, and our own happiness. I hope he has that much decency at least.”

Clarke’s smile held strong, but her eyes were overcast with a thin layer of imminent tears. This was about Madi. Clarke had to be strong, in spite of her own fears. Madi was growing up, and she had to accept that.

“Do you want to mail it tomorrow?” Clarke offered.

Madi nodded faintly. “I’d like that.”

Clarke nodded in return. 

“Then, that’s what we’ll do.”

o0o0o

Madi dropped by Bellamy’s workshop on the 28th, to help out with cabinets that the client expected to be delivered in the first week of January.

Instantly, she noticed the drawing on the wall. It was a sketch of the three of them, a very recent addition.

“Did mom draw that?” she asked with a mix of surprise and cogitation.

Bellamy nodded with an unconvincing air of casualness.

Madi stared at the drawing longer than seemed natural. When she finally looked away, she returned her attention to the work at hand, as if nothing at all had happened.

They did not talk about it any further.

o0o0o

On the morning of the 29th, as Clarke made pancakes for breakfast, Madi strolled into the kitchen and uttered the words as if they were the most natural thing to say at 9:45 on a Sunday morning.

“You know I just want you to be happy, right?”

Clarke gaped at Madi with a puzzled expression. She wished she could think of a more eloquent answer, but all she could muster was, “Huh?”

Madi resumed, just as naturally. “You’re allowed to date and live your life. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Clarke frowned. She could not for the life of her make sense of why Madi was telling her this now, in this particular context.

“I know.” She answered simply, still hesitant and confused.

Madi smiled, and seeing that the pancakes were not yet ready to eat, left the room again.

o0o0o

Octavia turned up on Bellamy’s doorstep on the 30th, unannounced as usual.

“I come bearing gifts,” she offered as an explanation.

Said gifts were the yearly batch of maple syrup provided by Lincoln’s family. Why she had not given Bellamy his share at the Christmas party, he did not know. Octavia was a disorganized soul, so he supposed it was not all that strange, after all.

She dropped the goods on Bellamy’s deck, and made the usual small talk for a few minutes. Then, with the excuse of a busy schedule, she made to leave.

Before heading back to Lincoln’s car, she turned once more towards her brother.

“You know you deserve to be happy, right?”

Bellamy frowned at the non-sequitur.

“Why?”

“You just do.”

And on that, Octavia left, leaving Bellamy stumped and muddled on his doorstep.

o0o0o

New Year’s was to be celebrated at Octavia’s this year.

Bellamy, Clarke and Madi showed up at 6 PM, the time neatly stipulated on Octavia’s most recent RSVP phone reminder. Bellamy had wondered why they were gathering so early, and when Octavia welcomed them into an empty house, he figured he should have known to be on his guards.

“Where’s… everyone?” he asked, reining in his budding suspicion.

“Oh,” Octavia shrugged, leading them into the living room, “you’re the first.”

She said it casually, as if they didn’t both know Miller was always first to any social event their group held. His suspicions were confirmed when Octavia adopted the least convincing apologetic expression he had ever seen.

“Actually, Lincoln needs me to pick him up in town right about now. Slight change of plan last minute, it’s been a hectic day. Do you guys mind checking the house while I go get him?”

Bellamy pursed his lips in an evident display of judgment. This was all so ridiculous. He had no words.

In his place, Clarke uttered an awkwardly surprised “Huh… I suppose?”

“Great! Thanks!” Octavia reached for her keys on the coffee table, and then straightened up in a very poor act of sudden recollection. “Oh, and Madi, would you like to come with? Lincoln said he wanted to show you something.”

Bellamy huffed audibly. “Huh, and he can’t show her here?” he asked dryly, not expecting a response.

Everyone ignored him. Madi nodded a little too promptly and followed her out the door.

They heard Octavia’s car start in the driveway and slowly pull away. Then, silence. Clarke was entirely clueless, still wondering what was even going on. When she finally snapped out of her stunned daze and turned to face Bellamy, she noted his unreservedly unimpressed demeanour.

“What was that about?” Clarke asked, sensing Bellamy knew more than he was willing to let on.

Bellamy offered no useful clarification. He could only infer, after all. He knew Octavia, he knew Madi. He could guess. Instead, he sighed, shook his head, and spun towards the kitchen.

“I need a drink,” was all he offered as an answer.

Clarke was not entirely satisfied with that response, but she supposed she could use a drink as well.

She quietly followed in his footsteps, only to find him frowning over a sort of book or binder left in an artlessly obvious placement on the counter. It looked homemade, like a crafty art project left laying around. Any thought of drinks or snacks were visibly forgotten as he eyed it dubiously.

“What’s that?” Clarke asked, drawing nearer to peer at it.

She half expected Bellamy to step aside, give her space. This was starting to feel like a set-up, and she could see Bellamy wanting to prove his sister wrong by any means possible. Yet, rather than backing out, he remained firmly rooted in place as her shoulder brushed against his.

"I don't know," he said. He spoke with enough composure to mask any nervousness he may feel. “It looks like a scrapbook. O doesn’t scrapbook. And it wasn’t left there by chance. She’s plotting something, and whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

“Well, now that you mention it, Madi _has_ been acting a little weird lately herself.”

Bellamy closed his eyes with a sigh. “I should have known.”

Clarke glanced up to meet Bellamy’s eyes. From this close, all he had to do was angle his eyes slightly down to the right to return her gaze. He seemed broody and sulky, annoyed for certain, but as soon as he locked eyes with her, his shoulders seemed to loosen ever so slightly.

Clarke hated shenanigans, but she had to admit, she was curious. She lowered her eyes back to the book’s cover, where a simple message had been glued in mismatched letter stickers.

_Open Me._

Figuring they had nothing better to do while waiting for the others to arrive, she did what it said and opened it.

What she found inside were pictures. No text, no description, no explanation. Just, pictures.

The first one, Clarke recognized. It was a selfie from Madi’s 13th birthday, in their first year in town. They had kept the event a small affair. Clarke and Madi had dinner with Abby and Marcus in the city the night before. It should have been the only celebration, but the following day, Bellamy presented her with a gift during their workshop hours. It was a bracelet, which Madi hadn’t even liked all that much—back then, Bellamy was still clumsily relying on gender stereotypes while getting to know them—but she had been touched nonetheless, enough so to invite Bellamy for dinner that night. A second birthday dinner of sorts.

On the selfie, Madi stood at the forefront, smiling with sheepish delight at the camera, while Clarke and Bellamy smiled rather awkwardly in the background, sitting at the dining table. It was the first time Bellamy ever had dinner at their house. Little did they know, it would be the first of many.

Clarke flipped the page to reveal a second picture. That one was a little harder to pinpoint. Clarke remembered the centerpiece—a small table Madi and Bellamy had built as one of their very first projects together. Behind the table stood Madi, looking proud as ever. Next to her was Bellamy, looking as pleased as you would expect, with him having practically been forced into the picture. Clarke remembered it now. She had taken that picture. And if Bellamy’s glaring at the camera was any indication, she was the reason he was on it too.

The next page bore a set of four pictures. This time, the showcased project was a couple of chairs which, to this day, still flanked Clarke and Madi’s dining table. The pictures were taken outside Bellamy’s workshop. The first showed Madi and Bellamy, each sitting on a chair. Madi looked just as proud, and Bellamy, a little less annoyed than before. The second was of them standing behind the chairs. This time, Bellamy definitely looked like he disagreed with the need for multiple shots of the same darn chairs. The third picture was of Clarke and Madi, embracing each other’s shoulders behind the chairs, Bellamy having assumed the role of photographer. Then, the last one was of Clarke and Bellamy, clearly wondering how it made any sense for them to be on it together. Madi’s idea, of course.

On the next page, Clarke recognized their first Christmas at Miller’s house. A large group of now-familiar individuals was crowding around the couch in Miller and Jackson’s living room. Miller, Jackson and Raven shared the couch, all three forcing awkward smiles for the camera, while Octavia, Lincoln and Madi sat on the ground before them—the two women looking as if they had just been plotting devious plans. They probably had been, Clarke figured. They had played so many pranks over the years, God only knew what this one in particular had been.

Behind them all stood Murphy, Emori, and Bellamy and Clarke. Murphy looked bored, while Emori smiled kindly at the camera. Bellamy was as stern as usual, while Clarke smiled more timidly, more tensely than normal. Besides work events, this had been her first social function in a long, long while. She remembered how nervous she was that day. For some reason she had not quite understood then, she really wanted these people to like her. Or, well, to like _them._ Madi deserved a support network, and Clarke had felt from the start that these people could be it.

On the picture, Clarke noted how Bellamy’s arm disappeared behind her, as if wrapping around her back. She knew for a fact that he was not actually touching her there. Bellamy had not let all of his defenses drop until much later. Any show of friendly affection would have meant a lot to her then. She would have remembered. That seemed to imply that his arm was behind her, hovering awkwardly out of reach, while his neutral expression expertly masked the internal debate he was navigating. To cross boundaries, or to leave them be.

She flipped the page before Bellamy could ask what she was thinking about. A quick glance at his face showed he was in as much of a confused trance as she was, taking in what the arrangement of those pictures was meant to communicate.

The next picture was from a softball game, during that phase Madi had in eighth grade. The girl was standing on the grass in her uniform, smiling. On each side of her stood Clarke and Bellamy, each with an arm wrapped around the girl. Clarke remembered that picture. It was the first time she realized Bellamy was actually touching Madi—and her, by extension—for a picture. It had been casual, unpremeditated. Completely natural.

What she hadn’t noticed was how Bellamy looked away from the camera. Instead, he was glancing in Clarke’s direction, his eye twinkling with muted amusement. Maybe she had said something just before the flash, which had drawn his attention away. Whatever it was, he was neither smiling nor scowling. An indescribable glint lightened up his face in a way none of the other pictures had captured. No matter how much she dug in her memories, Clarke could not remember what it was she could have said that day, at that very moment, to distract him.

Next was a picture of Madi’s 14th birthday. That year, they had a party at the house, with Abby, Marcus, Bellamy, Octavia, Lincoln, Miller and Jackson. Clarke grinned as she remembered the events of the day. It had been Abby and Bellamy's first time meeting. Abby had disliked the man at first sight, and with reason. He had grumbled a half-hearted answer to each of her well-intentioned questions and acted anti-social for most of the night. He was not prone to great first impressions, to say the least. His present for Madi, however—a miniature model of an Aston Martin DB5, the car that first brought them together—had smoothed over any doubts about how much he cared for the girl, which had won him brownie points with grandma Abby. And Clarke.

The next page was a little different. They were screenshots of text messages between Clarke, Madi and Bellamy. The dates and times dated back to the summer following Madi’s 14th birthday. That summer was the first time Clarke and Madi were invited to the gang’s annual fishing trip. They hadn’t been able to go, what with Marcus’s birthday happening that very weekend. Instead, Bellamy texted them the entire time, with pictures and grumpy comments about Murphy or Octavia. Most of those messages were between Bellamy and Madi, but so many seemed to start with “Tell Clarke that…” She wondered how much of those actual conversations Madi had edited out, to get her point across.

Something else was bugging her, however. It was irrelevant, and yet, she could not shake the thought. Now that Clarke had actually gone on a fishing trip with them, she knew how bad the reception was over there. She wondered how he had managed to text so often. Had he had to hike up each time? Why would he go through so much trouble for silly text messages?

The following page was also filled with screenshots. These texts, however, Clarke did not recognize. She noticed they were between Bellamy and Octavia, over the years. Mostly innocent, albeit all of them had been carefully selected for including mentions of Clarke or Madi. Most of them consisted of Octavia artlessly teasing Bellamy about the two newest women in his life, and him pointedly ignoring her implications.

This time, Bellamy was the one to flip the page, a little more hurriedly than the situation called for it. Before he did, Clarke noted how some of those messages dated back to their first year in town. Octavia being Octavia, it was no surprise that she would torture her brother at any opportunity, but Octavia also wasn’t dense. If anything, she was more perceptive than anyone gave her credit for. And if she had been teasing Bellamy on his ties with Clarke and Madi for that long, what could that mean?

The next page was a picture of Madi’s 15th birthday. Clarke, Madi, Abby, Marcus, Bellamy, Octavia, Lincoln, Miller, Jackson, Raven, Shaw, Emori and Murphy all smiled at the camera as a group.

The following one was from their trip to the lake with Lincoln and Octavia last summer. Clarke did not remember that picture at all. It was a candid. She and Bellamy were sitting on the beach, unknowingly watched. Bellamy was pouring Bailey’s into Clarke’s coffee, while the latter protested with a treacherous smile on her lips. Her hand lay casually on Bellamy’s chest, and the man smiled with more deriding fun than was customary for him. It was a moment of pure, unfettered joy they had shared, one Clarke had no idea had been captured.

The last picture was from Miller’s and Jackson’s wedding. Clarke and Bellamy were dancing, her head propped against his chest, and his chin atop her hair. With their eyes closed, they looked eerily content. And happy. As if they were the only two people left in the world, in spite of the crowd surrounding them.

And then, nothing but a series of blank pages. All too soon, it was over.

The two lone adults were silent, as Clarke slowly pulled the scrapbook shut. She itched to glance at Bellamy, size up his reaction, maybe get a glimpse of what he was thinking. She couldn’t bring herself to. Instead, she looked literally anywhere else, running away from the implications of this moment. She seized the first exit she could think of.

“So, how about that drink, huh?”

Notwithstanding Bellamy’s lack of answer—or, in fact, before he could even utter one—she spun to face the fridge and rummaged through its contents, knowing full well she would find booze in there. And she was right. A bottle of rosé would not be missed too dearly. In any case, Octavia deserved this loss after this silly pointless ploy.

When Clarke turned back towards Bellamy, wine bottle in hand, she found that, instead of having redirected his attention to their rekindled search for alcohol, his concentration was still entirely dedicated to the scrapbook on the island. He had flipped it open once more, and was steadily browsing through its pages. His face was unreadable, and yet, there were hints of something akin to concern on his otherwise eerily relaxed features. Once in a while, he halted on a specific picture, appraising it for a moment, grazing his fingers against the printed paper, before moving on again.

Clarke made her way back to where he stood, and carefully deposited the bottle of wine on the island, just far enough that it would not distract. She supposed wine would have to wait. Bellamy’s composed fixation on the pictures was starting to worry her.

He was looking at the lake picture again. He ran the tip of thumb against the edges as he eyed their carefree smiles and joyful countenances with uncharacteristic scrutiny.

Clarke observed the picture again, and felt a fluttering in her stomach which she could not explain. Looking back on the scene from this external perspective, she could feel it reigniting feelings in her, feelings she never really understood until now. Or rather, feelings she had tried so hard not to understand, because she was scared of what they meant, scared of the implications. Scared of losing what she and Bellamy had that was so precious, too special to gamble away.

She tore her eyes off the picture and gazed into Bellamy’s eyes, now on her. And there, she saw them. Those very same feelings mirrored in his dark irises. She could see them on the picture, and she could see them on his face right here, right now, as he gazed back with that disarming intensity she could never endure in cold blood.

They stood mere inches away from one another. Neither could find the words to string any kind of coherent thought. From the corner of her eyes, Clarke could see Bellamy’s hand hanging off to his side. His fingers were twitching, itching to move towards her, to bridge the gap between them, and touch her.

And it was painfully clear then how much she wanted him to touch her again.

She made to grab his hand and bridge the gap herself when the sound of the front door swinging open sent a brisk gust of cold air into the room.

“Yo, Octavia!” Miller’s voice came from the entrance. “Why is your car not here?”

o0o0o

The ensuing hours were awkward, to say the least.

Bellamy spent most of them ensconced in mindless conversation with Miller and Murphy, under the distant yet judgmental eye of Octavia in the corner. Clarke sought refuge in Jackson’s progressively inebriated dialogue, while Madi frowned at her from afar.

Once in a while, Bellamy and Clarke’s eyes met across the room, pausing into the impromptu glance for a few suspended seconds. Then, they flitted back to their respective distractions, disregarding the simple occurrence entirely.

For the rest of it, the night was nothing out of the ordinary.

o0o0o

When the new year rang, Clarke was five glasses of wine in and had all but forgotten the source of her prior discomfort. The countdown took her by surprise, reining her back into reality with a jolt.

_10… 9…_

Jackson took a step back from his conversation with Clarke and disappeared into the small crowd, seeking Miller for the imminent New Year’s kiss.

_8… 7…_

Everyone scattered as they chanted the numbers, looking for their respective partners.

_6… 5…_

Everyone, as if in unison, persistently avoided Clarke, acting as if they couldn’t see her.

_4…_

As she glanced across the room, she saw they did the same around Bellamy.

Crafty bastards.

_3…_

Their eyes connected once more in the distance between them, and they smiled sheepishly at each other.

_2…_

Bellamy rolled his eyes at everyone’s lack of subtlety, and started making his way towards her.

_1…_

Everyone chanted their new year’s wishes all around them, cheering and embracing each other. Couples kissed, then started gravitating towards others, sharing the love and wishes with everyone in their friend group.

Everyone except Clarke and Bellamy.

As if out of a tacit agreement, they all appeared to avoid them, refusing to even acknowledge their presence, as if they were ethereal beings of mist. The group buzzed with rekindled chatter around them, while they stood just outside of it, excluded. Clarke would have rolled her eyes in turn, had it not been for the way Bellamy’s pupils locked with hers, captivating and entrancing her all at once. For a moment, she forgot everything that wasn't him and her, here and now.

He smiled meekly, awkwardly, tentatively.

“Happy New Year,” he uttered softly.

Clarke smiled in return. “Happy New Year.”

With a slight hesitation, Bellamy inched forward unsurely. He carefully wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of his chest. She slipped her arms around his torso, hugging back.

This felt right. Hugging Bellamy, keeping him close. It felt like where she needed to be. It felt safe, like a solace of warmth and protection. As she listened to his heartbeat, she wondered how they could even have let things get so complicated between them. It was so simple, really. No matter what they wound up being to each other, so long as they had each other, everything would be alright. Friends, lovers, partners. What mattered was that they were present.

The normal duration of a casual hug passed and went. Neither of them made to let go. Neither seemed to want to be the one to step back. Blinded by the fabric of Bellamy’s jacket, Clarke felt rather than saw his nose brushing against her hair. His cheek rested against her head, caressing her with tender movements. His palms picked up a subtle movement against her back, continuously stroking her clothed skin.

When she felt the pressure of his cheek against her scalp lift, she instinctively raised her head, as if following his lead. She felt the bridge of his nose press against the side of her head. If his feelings were anywhere near what Clarke’s heart was reeling through at that very moment, he was fighting to keep his composure and avoid doing anything rash. Neither of them was doing a particularly good job of it, she sensed.

The tip of his nose ticked the skin of her temple. The butterfly touch traced the tingling nerve endings of her brows and forehead. Eyes determinedly closed, Clarke could feel the warmth of his straggly breath against her skin. His lips grazed her eyelashes in passing, and a shiver shot down her spine.

Bellamy’s head kept moving in undefined motions. Their cheeks brushed, and Clarke instinctively buried her face into his neck. Then, restless, she raised her head to glance up at him again.

He gazed at her with the same fervor she knew inhabited her own pupils, defiantly bold and reckless. Clarke was painfully aware of how public this whole scene was. No one around them was seemingly watching, and yet, Clarke held the unshakable sensation that everyone was furtively peering at them at every chance.

She could feel Bellamy’s lips hovering over hers, and she knew, without the slightest doubt, that she desperately wanted to kiss him. Now. Here. Always. Anywhere.

Bellamy’s lips grazed ever so slightly against hers, barely touching, and all of her hesitations were thrown out the window.

She pressed her lips against his. Hesitantly at first. Then more confidently. And desperately.

To hell with the whispered cheers in the distance.

For a few suspended seconds, they _were_ the only two people in the world.

o0o0o

Madi stayed the night at Octavia’s. Bellamy took Clarke home around two in the morning. He parked his truck in her driveway and tacitly followed her inside.

“Are you sure?” Bellamy whispered, as Clarke softly tugged on his shirt, pulling him down to the bed with her.

Clarke nodded, eyes flitting between his eyes and his lips. “Yes, I am sure.”

And it was true. For the first time, she felt no constraints, no logical objection. It made sense. It felt right. That unwonted certitude had to mean something.

She kissed him, softly. He let her lead the way, and gripped her shirt with vibrant despair once she deepened the kiss. When she pulled her lips away, their noses brushed against one another as she let her eyes dive blindly into his. Maybe a few seconds passed by, maybe minutes.

The words hit before either of them could realize it.

“I love you, Clarke.”

They came in a whisper, so soft she momentarily wondered if she had even heard them.

But she had. And without hesitation, she smiled.

“I love you too.”

This time, Bellamy kissed her, his hands exploring every inch of her clothed body. Time simultaneously froze and sped out of control around them, as feathery flakes of snow began emerging from the sky outside, preparing a literal blank slate for the new year ahead.

For once, Clarke fell asleep unworried.


	22. Moonlight and Rites of Passage (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey.
> 
> Long time no see.
> 
> It's odd. It almost feels as if… a whole load of sh*t happened since I last posted. Like, people-dying-and-show-creators-getting-canceled kind of sh*t.
> 
> ... weird, right?
> 
> Anyhow. Here’s the epilogue. In the hopes that it cheers y’all up.
> 
> Not that any cheering up is currently needed of course. I’m just rambling here.

**Two Years Later.**

Clarke pounded on Bellamy’s door until a resonating numbness started to spread in her palm.

 _It’s been a while,_ she thought, trying to remember the last time she had turned up on his doorstep this angry.

She wasn’t truly angry, though. Not really. Concerned, maybe. Definitely worried. She was frustrated, too. But mostly worried.

She was about to start her third wave of pounding when she heard the lock click inside, halting her in her swing. There was a moment of silent stillness, before the knob finally turned, slowly, unsurely. The door was opened with about as much confidence, which was none at all.

The Bellamy who stood before her through the wary crack of the now half-opened door looked alright. His hair looked a little disheveled, there were faint hints of dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise, he looked normal.

 _Normal,_ Clarke huffed internally. What did _normal_ even mean anyway?

Bellamy leaned on the door with a mixture of nonchalance and confidence that Clarke knew was a façade. She knew him and his patterns well enough to know he was feeling shame and disappointment, but preferred wallowing in his own murky emotions than letting others see him weak.

Usually, he let Clarke in on it, though. She had seen enough, and he trusted her. But sometimes, things just got to be too much. In times like these, he shut her out, like everyone else. For a few days, at most. Never longer. Mainly because Clarke never let him drag it out longer. She’d give him space for a day or two, and then she figured space was not what he needed.

Today was one of those days.

“So,” she uttered calmly, keeping her face as neutral as possible. When going through an episode, Bellamy was his very own renewable source of indignity. He did not need Clarke piling any more shame onto the pre-existing inventory. “Are we ghosting now? Is that it? I hear it’s quite the trend with Madi’s generation nowadays.”

Okay, maybe she hadn’t fully mastered the art of not twisting the knife in the wound at all yet. She had emotions too. Sue her.

Bellamy lowered his eyes to the ground. His composure was already disintegrating. It never held up long with Clarke around.

His voice came out in a thin, airy string of muffled sounds. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke’s shoulders immediately relaxed. Ultimately, all the frustration she felt was out of concern for Bellamy. He was doing so well, nowadays. Whenever something like this happened – and it did not happen often, not anymore – it felt like a huge setback. In the end, Clarke knew setbacks were normal, but Bellamy needed a bit more convincing. Clarke was willing to help him believe it, in whatever way she could. Even if that was frustratingly hard work.

“Can I come in?” she asked softly.

Eyes still riveted to the ground, Bellamy nodded faintly. He pulled the door further open, silently letting her in. Clarke stepped inside, eyeing him as intently as he avoided her gaze. When he stepped closer to shut the door behind her, she did not step aside. Instead, she let her hand graze against the cloth of his t-shirt on his chest, as if to force his eyes on her. It worked. Their eyes met, and in his, she could see hesitation, fear, and a conflicting dose of relief.

Her hand rose to his neck, and she shifted her weight onto her toes to kiss him. The kiss was swift, brief, but in the second it took her to reach him and step back, she sensed the muscles in his shoulders loosen oh so lightly. The cold-shoulder period was now behind them.

This time, it had all started for such silly reasons. As it usually did. Clarke knew all too well, of course, that it was about more than what she could see on the witless surface of things.

Bellamy’s house had been looking good, these past years. It hadn’t changed much in the last two, though. Nearly every space had been functional for a while, and most of the work had gone into keeping it this way and learning to replace the old with the new while maintaining manageable levels of anxiety.

Clarke had been trying to convince him that it was time for him to welcome guests into his house. Sure, when he had people over nowadays, he was okay with letting people use his bathroom whenever strictly necessary. But actually inviting people inside remained an issue. Clarke thought the house was ready. Bellamy claimed it wasn’t, using as an excuse the extra room – The Room – where every unclassified item had been left in purgatory for the last few years. There wasn’t much left, but what _was_ there was the hardest to get through. Sentimental items, family memorabilia. Deciding what was worth keeping was near impossible, and he could barely get through ten minutes of it before declaring he was too tired to keep going. Clarke tried not to push his limits, but sometimes, even that was hard too.

Still, she thought they could let that room be for a while, and start inviting people anyway. She did not think he should wait until everything was perfect, because perfection existed nowhere other than in perfectionists’ imaginations, to foster disappointment and anxiety.

This time, Clarke had pushed a little further than usual. Bellamy had not responded well.

Fast-forward a day and a half, there she was standing in his kitchen, browsing through his fridge as if nothing were the matter, while he awkwardly stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“You know,” she said, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge before pushing the door shut. She looked him in the eye from across the island as she uttered the rest of her sentence. “You can’t keep doing this. Shutting me out, I mean. We've been together for years, now. I think it’s about time you realize you’re not getting rid of me this easily.”

Bellamy met her eyes. She could see the hint of a smile tugging at the side of his lips. He resisted, probably too afraid of appearing disrespectful.

“You know that’s not why,” he replied, voice hoarse.

Clarke smiled faintly. “I know.”

“It’s just… it’s a lot, sometimes.”

“I know.”

She set the sparkling water aside on the island to make her way over to him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and rested her head against his shoulder. This time, his hands rose to meet the curve of her back.

“I’m sorry if I pushed you,” Clarke whispered into his neck. “I just hope you know it’s because I believe in you.”

She felt the movement of his head nodding. It was all she needed. She tightened her embrace slightly, for a second. He matched it.

“Are you sleeping over tonight?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he muttered simply.

“Good.”

And that was that.

o0o0o

“Come on Madi, smile!”

The girl rolled her eyes in annoyance, before humouring the adults and their paparazzi urges. Behind her, Jordan stood stiffly, his hands awkwardly propped against her waist in the most cliché Prom picture pose Madi had ever seen. Needless to say, neither of them had been part of the ideation.

“It’s okay,” she gritted between her smiling teeth, “just one more and we’re free.”

“You said that three pictures ago,” Jordan groaned, barely moving his lips.

“I’m an optimist.”

“Since when?”

“Shut up and smile.”

They counted at least six cameras – Clarke, Monty, Octavia, Emori, Jackson, and Raven – while the remaining few adults backseat-drove the entire operation from over their significant other’s shoulder. Except maybe Murphy, who only showed interest in the whole operation out of perverse glee at the youngsters’ obvious pain.

Eventually, the two teens managed to wriggle themselves out of this obnoxious lawn photoshoot and run to Madi’s car before any other humiliating obstacle could be thought of. Her Ford Ranchero – which Bellamy had helped her find and bargain for before the Holidays – drove off a little too quickly, as if getting to Prom swiftly was now of the utmost importance. Everyone watched it turn the corner with premature nostalgia.

“Honey, don’t cry,” Harper teased Monty.

“I’m not crying,” the latter responded a little too abruptly, unsubtly swiping the side of his face with a clumsy hand.

Clarke felt Bellamy’s fingers slide across her back and nestle on her opposite shoulder. Out of habit, she propped her head against his side.

Madi hadn’t graduated yet, she had to remind herself. She was not leaving yet.

But she _would_ leave. Soon. To college, out of state, to study engineering. Clarke couldn’t be prouder, in spite of the pinching sensation she felt in her heart whenever she was reminded of her daughter’s impending departure.

“She’ll be fine,” Bellamy muttered in a breath, as if he knew.

Of course he knew. He always did.

“I know,” she whispered.

It didn’t matter. Things were changing.

Now, change didn’t have to be a bad thing. But even knowing that could not soften the whole dizzying experience of it.

o0o0o

Clarke dropped a pile of empty boxes on the floor. She pulled her sleeves up, and turned a determined look towards Bellamy.

“Ready?” she asked in a kind of encouragement that felt both assertive and gentle.

Bellamy glanced over the room he had avoided for so long. Filled with piles of items from an era long gone. Items that should no longer matter as much as they still did, and yet...

“Not really,” he admitted in a sigh.

Clarke smiled empathetically, running a caring hand along the length of his arm.

“But it’s time,” Bellamy added.

Clake nodded, tenderly squeezing his arm.

“We’ll take breaks whenever you need it.”

o0o0o

“So, what do you think?” Madi asked, sounding almost nervous.

Clarke looked up from the insides of the drawer she had been inspecting. She huffed almost imperceptibly, smiling at her daughter in a mix of amusement and refrained regret.

“I think it’s about what _you_ think.”

Madi puckered her lips in hesitation. She had spent weeks excitedly anticipating this trip to Indiana, to finally visit her college dorms. Moving out of state, going to college, becoming independent, that all seemed like the life she had been dreaming of for so long.

Now that she was here, though, it felt a little too real, too fast, and too sudden. She felt light-headed just envisioning it now.

That, and guilty.

Guilty, because she actually liked the place, and that scared her. Because it meant leaving home, leaving Clarke, and Bellamy, and Octavia. And Jordan, who was going to college in Charlottesville, not that far from home.

So long as it had felt distant and intangible, she had felt excited. Now, she felt cold and shivery. Was she really ready for this?

“It’s okay, I guess,” she muttered in a casual shrug.

She felt Clarke’s warm hands rest on her shoulders, comforting her, as if she could see right through her strong front.

Maybe she could.

“Hey,” Clarke whispered with a benevolent smile. “It’s okay if you need time to soak it in.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Madi sounded hesitant.

Clarke tightened her grip on her daughter’s shoulders in a comforting gesture. “You know I’m proud of you, right?”

Madi rolled her eyes non so discretely. “I think I got it the last five times you told me.”

Clarke shrugged in a false air of nonchalance.

“Just making sure.”

o0o0o

“I’ve been thinking,” Madi started abruptly, barging into the living room unannounced.

Clarke looked up from the book she had been reading, raising an intrigued eyebrow towards her daughter.

Madi looked nervous, she thought. Then, Clarke noticed the envelope in Madi’s hands, and she understood.

Madi bit her lip as she spoke. “I might have browsed through your office drawers.” Then, after a beat, “sorry.”

Clarke waved her daughter’s concern away, and silently invited to join her on the couch. Madi obeyed silently.

“Are you saying…” Clarke started hesitantly.

“Yeah. I mean. I’m leaving for college in less than a month. I think it’s time. Closure, and all.”

“It’s not like you’re leaving forever.”

“I know, I know. It just… it makes sense, you know?”

Clarke nodded slowly, more so to facilitate her registering the decision than to agree.

“What does Dr. Santiago think of it?”

Madi shrugged. “He thinks I’ll know when I’m ready.”

“And you are?”

This time, Madi met Clarke’s eyes to respond. “I’ll never not dread it, but I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She breathed in slowly, before adding, “it’s not like I’ll want to see the guy anytime soon. But… I don’t want to let him regiment my life anymore. I guess I just want to feel free.”

This time, Clarke’s nod was a show of agreement. Tacitly, she took the envelope from Madi’s fingers.

Even if Clarke hadn’t already known who it was from – the letter had been resting in her office drawer for well over a year now – the handwriting that delineated Madi’s name on it was unmistakable. It was a letter from Sheid, mailed a long time ago. Neither of them had expected it, and neither had known what to make of it. Clarke had told Madi she didn’t have to look at it, ever, if she did not want to. She did not owe that man anything. If she wanted, they could throw it out and forget all about it.

Madi hadn’t wanted to look at it just yet, but trashing it hadn’t felt right. They had both agreed they would wait. Until it felt right. Whether that was a few months, a few years. Or maybe never.

“Do you want to look at it now?”

Madi seemed to hesitate.

“Maybe… Maybe _you_ can look at what it says? And if it’s… bad, then maybe I don’t have to look at it.”

“And if it’s not bad?”

Madi looked surer now. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

o0o0o

It turned out the letter only contained three words.

_I am sorry._

And that was it. No greeting, no signature, no excuses. Only a bare apology.

“Well.” Madi enunciated slowly. “That was anti-climatic.”

Clarke said nothing in return.

She knew those three words meant more than the girl was letting on.

o0o0o

“So, what’s it feel like to have an empty nest?” Octavia asked in a mildly snarky tone as she unpacked the car. She and Lincoln had gone shopping in the city, and Bellamy had asked for a few errands, since they were going anyway. She had dropped off Lincoln at home before coming over.

Bellamy rolled his eyes as he grabbed the bags from his sister’s outstretched hands. “It’s not _my_ nest.” Madi had officially left for college two days earlier. Clarke and Bellamy had driven her. Neither had been particularly dry-eyed on the way back.

Octavia knew, of course. No matter what he said about it. “Hm. If you say so,” she said with evident skepticism.

She handed him out the last bag, which he dropped on the porch with the others. Octavia nodded casually, never one for extravagant goodbyes, and told him she’d see him at Miller’s thing next weekend.

She made to go back to the car, when Bellamy called out once more.

“Hey, O.” His sister turned around with a casually inquisitive expression. “You want to… You want to come in for coffee or something?”

She waited, as if unsure of what he meant. Her eyes flitted to the fire pit, and Bellamy shook his head.

“No, I mean inside.” He clarified, without needing her to ask.

Octavia was not one to let it be known that she was shocked. She had a reputation to uphold.

But at that moment, she definitely was shocked. This wasn’t him allowing her to use his bathroom quickly. This wasn’t him requesting her help with something inside. This was him inviting her in, just because. No matter how small of a gesture it may seem to be, she was speechless. She looked as if she was debating whether to play it cool, pull him into an aggressive bear hug, or start crying.

His face must have communicated the information she needed, because she opted for the first option.

“Sure,” she replied as casually as she could. “I have time.”

Quietly, they made their way inside.

o0o0o

When Bellamy dropped by the house for dinner, Clarke was painting in her office. He made an effort not to pry, knowing how uncomfortable she still felt showing people her unfinished pieces. Even finished ones, in fact. Bellamy and Madi were often the only ones given special treatment on that front. Still, Bellamy tried to let her be the one to initiate any art showing in the house.

“How was your day?” she asked as she cleaned her hands on a rag.

“Good,” he replied laconically. “Yours?”

“Good.”

They both knew this was parent-speak for “we miss Madi like crazy, even though it’s only been two days.” Neither of them mentioned it, though.

Clarke stepped over to him and pecked him on the lips, before making her way to the kitchen.

“I hope you’re inspired for dinner,” she spoke distantly from the hallway, “because I have zero motivation for cooking.”

Bellamy snorted as he started following her to the kitchen. “If you cut the veggies, I’ll do the rest.”

“Deal!”

o0o0o

It was near midnight. Everything was silent, outside and inside.

They both laid next to one another in Clarke’s bed. They had been talking for the past hour or so, unable to sleep in spite of the exhaustion from the day. They had only stopped chatting a few minutes ago, and Clarke’s breathing was already starting to slow down as she slipped into a foggy sleep.

Bellamy was feeling tired himself, but his thoughts were reeling, and in a good way. The day had been a good one, in spite of everything. Not every day was good, but today, he felt… happy. Just inexplicably, overwhelmingly happy, as he sensed Clarke’s warmth by his side. The scene was peaceful, eerie in its own magical way.

His voice escaped his lips without him really planning on it.

“Clarke?”

A faint sigh was the only sign of life as Clarke weakly resisted against sleep. “Uh?” She muttered groggily.

Bellamy noted how the moonlight shone on Clarke’s skin as on water at night, pure and perfect.

There was no hesitation in his voice when he replied.

“Will you marry me?”

The only sound heard in the depth of the night was Clarke’s breath catching in her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aand that's all folks.
> 
> A number of you have asked whether I intend to continue this story in future snippets or sequels. Let's just say that it's not the plan in the near future, but who knows, really? I've been known to rekindle old sparks.
> 
> Thank you for the support and lovely comments along the way. It's been therapeutic, more than you know.
> 
> May we meet again. 
> 
> (And that phrase has been ruined forever, has it not?)


End file.
